


Six White Roses

by masksarehot



Category: Warcraft III
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Fluff, Romance, Smut, Underage warning is for 2 teens having sex in the prologue, and it's smooth sailing after that, canon compliant if you ignore everything after Warcraft III The Frozen Throne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-02
Updated: 2014-10-02
Packaged: 2018-02-19 13:50:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 21
Words: 169,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2390648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masksarehot/pseuds/masksarehot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Written in 2003] "All I ever wanted was to study." Jaina Proudmoore is a talented mage who wants nothing more than to devote her life to the Kirin Tor and her long distance lover Prince Kael'thas, but then she meets Prince Arthas, and everything begins to change. Soon all three of them are on increasingly dangerous paths -- and in the background, a war is beginning to brew. (Written based on Warcraft III & TFT canon. Incomplete, but I posted a ton of unfinished scenes at the end to give the idea of where it was going.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Book One - Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I originally posted this to ff.net in 2003-2004 under a different username, and over time, I became less and less comfortable with it. There are some aspects of this fic that I find disturbing now in terms of consent, co-dependence, and what "romance" is and should be. Furthermore, since it's been 10 years since then, I feel that it no longer represents my writing style. PLEASE BEAR IN MIND that I no longer condone many things that happen in this fic, and I'd make many different decisions if I were to redo it.
> 
> However, since I took this fic down several years ago, I've had a surprising number of people track me down and ask me to put it back up. I've been uncertain whether I want to put up the whole thing or just parts of it, but eventually, I decided to just throw everything I had up here with the exception of one scene I can no longer stomach. The fic was never finished, but I've included two bonus chapters that have about 50,000 words of unpublished stuff. Those of you who haven't read it in many many years will no doubt notice that it doesn't live up to your expectations, hahaha.
> 
> As well, this was before the official novel retconned a bunch of the Arthas/Jaina/Kael love triangle stuff, so it's based PURELY on Warcraft III and TFT. A lot of this contradicts actual lore today.
> 
> Final note: many of the "OCs" here are actually based on WC3 troops.  
> -Mina - elf sorc  
> -Scarsdale - human captain  
> -Eldin - named Kael clone hero for the PvP section  
> -Tancred - the pissy blood elf peons  
> and so on.
> 
> So it might seem like there are a lot of OCs, but they're supposed to flesh out the troop types.
> 
> Fic notes are here: http://sixwhiteroses.livejournal.com/ (I'm genuinely unable to remember what I posted there O_o)

**Book One**  
 **Bouton de Rose**  
 **_(rosebud)_ **

 

Jaina was barely sixteen when Kael, elven prince of Quel'Thalas, took her virginity under a weeping willow on the banks of the river Bella.

The elven prince and his envoy of emissaries were visiting Jaina's father to negotiate trade agreements between their nations. Jaina had worked so hard to prepare the banquet for the guests that she fell asleep immediately afterwards and awoke almost an hour after the banquet had begun. She ran into the dining hall, her cheeks flushed, and bowed her head as her father proudly introduced her. She was so ashamed of her tardiness that she didn't lift her head until well into the third course. When she did, she noticed the elven prince staring at her with placid eyes.

He was older than her, but she wasn't sure by how much (she never did find out); he already bore the jutting jaw and proud nose of adulthood. His top lip was permanently curled into a tiny sneer, but his expression was kind. His eyes glowed with such a brilliant blue that they engulfed the pupils at their centres and cast a faint haze on his cheekbones. His flaxen hair was loose about his face, and his ears were long, even by elven standards. His eyebrows jutted from the sides of his head like an antelope's horns. He smiled and nodded his head at her in acknowledgement; realizing she was staring, she quickly looked back to her food.

Afterward, she began to take care of the dishes; the men strode to the meeting room to commence their business. The negotiations were tiresome, and the elven prince had been so captivated by the young women that he couldn't focus on the discussion. While the others were talking, he slipped out of the meeting room. The girl was waiting outside the door; she jumped backwards and let out a tiny gasp, then bowed her head and blushed. He smiled and held out a hand as if approaching a wild rabbit.

"I was hoping to see you, maiden," he whispered as he took a step closer. She watched him timidly through the hair that cloaked her face.

The elven prince slid his hand along the side of her jaw and lifted it so that her crystalline blue eyes met his.

"Milord," she said quietly. A tiny muscle above her lip began to jump. He smoothed his clawed fingers over it, marvelling at its fragility.

"You are such a beautiful young thing," he said. "I am afraid to touch you, for fear of corrupting you, and yet I cannot seem to stop myself."

"I have no objection to being corrupted by you, Milord," she whispered, "nor to your touch."

"Is that so?" He removed his fingertips from the quivering lips; his thumb grazed her chin, then withdrew.

"I will send for you at ten o'clock tomorrow morning," he said gently. "Is that okay?"

"Certainly, Milord."

"Then, I shall see you then." His lips curved into quick, soft smile, and he turned back to the meeting hall.

 

 

He kept his word; when he called, she was still plaiting her hair after her bath. She hurried to fasten the end with an elastic and find her silken purple frock, then sneaked into her mother's room. It had been off limits since her recent death, but she was sure this occasion warranted betraying her father's trust. She stole a drop of her mother's finest perfume and dabbed it behind her neck, then behind either knee.

It was almost ten-thirty by the time she made it downstairs. She stepped outside. The elven prince was standing among the hedges, and he blended in so well that she didn't see him until he reached out his clawed hand to take hers. She laughed, startled, and he thought the noise the most musical thing he had ever heard.

They walked silently to the gardens behind her father's house, and found the river Bella that sliced through it. The river was narrow -- almost a stream -- and laced with jutting rocks that cut the water into froth. She intended to take him right to the waterfall, but grew impatient, and led him instead to a low-lying willow on the banks. The branches formed a cozy shelter; he parted them for her, and she stepped through, then crouched to press a hand to the ground. It was dry. She lay on her back and smiled shyly up at him.

The elf slid to sit beside her, his legs tucked to the side, and he ran his knuckles across her chin. His lip trembled, and his hand quivered against her cheek.

"Are you afraid, Milord?" she whispered.

"Yes," he breathed, and he traced the bridge of her nose gently with a long, curved fingernail. "I have never seen anyone so beautiful." His voice shook.

"You needn't be," she murmured, the muscle above her lips quaking slightly. He smiled and traced the fine twitch.

"Nor should you, Milady."

His fingers ran across her small mouth, and she parted her lips slightly, exposing a crack of the damp flesh within. He shuddered and gripped her chin, bending his head for a kiss.

His curled lips were fleshy, warm, and soft, and he kissed with experience and precision that surprised her. His thumb tugged at her chin and his tongue lapped gently at her lips until she spread them. He tasted sweet and warm, and when he finally pulled away, she gripped his wrist and brought his hand down to cup her breast. The elven prince groaned and bent for another kiss, kneading the soft flesh in his palm. She busied herself with undoing the buttons on her dress; soon, he began to help.

When the front of the dress was at last undone, he spread the material away, one side at a time, and exposed her naked body. His hand ran down the centre of her torso and back up again as he gazed upon her. Her skin was pale and creamy; her hips were still narrow with youth, but her breasts were the full, round breasts of an adult. She watched carefully, trying to determine if he was pleased with what he saw.

Evidently he approved, for he bent to suckle the flesh of her breasts. She squirmed at the novel sensations his mouth produced. His left hand slid down the front of her body and between her thighs, then traced her entrance, sliding easily on the liquid surface. One finger curved to glide inside her.

His head snapped up; his glowing eyes were wide.

"You're..." He swallowed. "You're a..."

"Is that okay?" she whispered, afraid that her inexperience would frighten him away.

"Surely there are men more deserving," he said solemnly. "I would be honoured -- so honoured -- but..." He trailed off as the girl's hand cupped his narrow jaw; her eyebrows met in a peak.

"Please," she whispered.

The elf sucked in a pleased hiss of air; his eyes squeezed shut. "I'll be gentle," he said, his voice tight.

He was true to his word, and she felt almost no pain after the initial entrance. The sensations were curious and overwhelming at once, and she was overtaken by climax before she could fully analyse them. The elven prince watched her protectively as the last spasms left her body, then he slid out to empty onto her stomach; this, too, produced curious sensations that she couldn't categorize. She contemplated these new emotions as he lay beside her and pressed his cheek to her shoulder. His muscled arm draped across her chest and he breathed a low contented sigh.

 

 

He left that afternoon with promises to write. Jaina didn't believe him. Everyone knew that women constantly offered themselves up to princes, and the invitation was rarely refused; certainly, she was just a link in a chain of women. She went about her daily tasks, determined to forget him.

One week later, a message arrived. Certain he would never send another, she hesitated before finally replying three weeks later. His answer came within two days.

And thus began many years of frequent correspondence. She learned that he was a member of the order of sorcerers, the Kirin Tor, in Dalaran; he learned that she had been training to get into the illustrious order. This sparked plans of reunion: one day, she would arrive in Dalaran, and he would properly welcome her to the Violet Citadel, where the Kirin Tor practiced their magic.

That day, however, did not seem likely to ever arrive. Jaina's father, distraught over the loss of his wife and son, refused to let his daughter leave home. Kael planned to visit Kul Tiras and persuade him to let her leave, but the nation was well out of the way, and he never found an opportunity to visit. And so, for more than five years, they planned in vain.

It wasn't until Jaina was nearing her twenty-second birthday that her father finally agreed to let her leave home. He arranged for her to stay with two childhood friends in the Capital City of Lordaeron: the city would be close enough to Dalaran that she could further her study and find strong tutors, and he could rest easy knowing she wasn't alone. She would be happy, and safe, with people she knew.

And so, more than five years after her last meeting with Kael, Jaina left Kul Tiras. Her heart was light. Now, she could finally study properly to enter the Kirin Tor; and now, she could finally be reunited with Kael.

 

 


	2. Book One - I

**I**

 

Less than a week before Jaina was to board her ship to the Capital City, Kael was back home in Quel'Thalas, watching Prince Arthas of Lordaeron aid his people in a defensive strike against troll raiders along the border.

Arthas let out a cry; he spun and thrust his sword through the chest of an advancing troll. A second advanced; Arthas whisked a knife from his belt and stabbed, then turned to wrench his sword from the body of the first troll. The bodies hit the ground simultaneously; the prince crouched before them and spun both weapons with flourish.

"Show off," muttered Kael, knowing full well that it was this flashiness that made the people of his lands titter with admiration over the human prince.

The surviving trolls decided that this target was no longer worth fighting; they began to back off.

"Come back here, you cowards!" yelled Arthas, grinning madly. He began to advance on the group, bloody weapons brandished.

"Prince Arthas," called Kael.

The human prince stopped, but didn't turn: his eyes were locked on the wary figures.

"What do you want, elf?" he snapped, testosterone coursing through his veins.

"Leave them, Arthas," said Kael. "The battle is over; the troll forces are retreating."

The man whirled to look at him; the straggling trolls took the opportunity to scramble away.

"Are you insane?" Arthas asked, growling the last word. "They are pulling back to regroup! We must strike them all down now, or they will attack again!"

"They don't have enough surviving forces to regroup," said Kael calmly. He strode to stand by the other, and choked back his pride to say: "My people thank you for your help. The threat is quelled."

The human prince glared at him for a moment, then shook his head and called for his captain.

"Yes, Milord?" asked Captain Scarsdale.

"Have the men slaughter the trolls before they retreat. Let none survive!"

"Yes, Milord," said the captain, and he rushed back to bark orders at the men.

Kael's mouth dropped.

"This battle will be finished properly, elf," said Arthas; he bent to wipe his bloodstained sword on the grass.

"Prince Arthas," hissed Kael, "I gave you a direct order. While you are in my lands, you will obey my command! Order your troops to withdraw!"

The human prince swept a matted snarl of yellow hair from his sweaty face.

"Incompetent mage," he snapped. "If it weren't for me-"

"Incompetent? You arrogant fool!" snarled Kael. He planted his staff into the ground before him. "Do not test me, little human, or I will show you just how incompetent I really am!"

"Is that supposed to be a threat?" Arthas lazily swung his sword in an arc, intending to cleave the staff in half. The blade was sharp enough to cut through even the densest wood; it glanced off the rod without leaving a dent. He stared.

"What the-?"

Before he could finish, Kael let out an elvish battle cry. A bolt of ice flew from his outstretched hand. Arthas sidestepped; the bolt whizzed past his head. He stared after it, then turned and charged at the elf with a loud yell.

 

 

"Lord Uther."

The paladin yelled and swung his mallet, crushing in the head of the unfortunate troll that stood before him. He ensured that no others were nearby before turning to the source of the voice. Lord Syrius Blackbrow stood behind him; Uther raised an eyebrow.

"I'm a little busy, lad," he said kindly as he swung the mallet to crunch a troll that was struggling to stand.

"It's Arthas," muttered the lord. Uther stopped and looked at the other, his eyes wide with worry.

"Arthas? Is he hurt?"

Syrius sighed and pointed, his heart heavy; he knew that the paladin would be furious, and he felt as if he were betraying his friend by pointing him out.

Uther followed his finger across the battlefield to see the human prince locked in battle with Prince Kael. His eyes narrowed.

"That bloody fool!" he snarled; he began to charge at the pair.

 

 

Kael's eyes glowed white as he summoned a pillar of ice shards from beneath Arthas' feet. The human swore and leapt from the ground just in time to avoid the blow. While he was still off balance, the elf sent another ice bolt. Arthas didn't notice until it was almost upon him. He turned his body, but was too late to evade it completely: the ice shard sliced through the skin at the bridge of his nose.

The human staggered; the blow had been deep. He put his hand to the wound, and blood trickled down his forearm. His eyes widened.

"You bastard!" yelled Arthas. He looked at his bloodied fingers, stunned, then pressed them back to the wound.

The elf sneered. "I guess we know who the better warrior is, your Majesty." He feigned a bow. "Now follow my command. Withdraw your troops."

Arthas' bloodied hand joined the other at the hilt of his sword.

"Rule number one of battle, mage," he snapped. "Never leave your enemy alive."

He yelled and thrust; Kael blocked the blow with the staff.

"We both know I could have finished you off while you were checking your wounds, human," hissed the elf. "Rule number two of battle: never drop your guard for an instant. Now who is the incompetent one?"

Arthas cried out and thrust his sword at the man's chest.

"This little competition is already over, Arthas." Kael blocked with his staff with a sneer. "You lost."

The prince yelled; he spun and sliced at the man's knees. The blade met with the staff once more. The blow jarred the rod in Kael's hands, and he fumbled; Arthas saw his chance and swung his sword at the elf's exposed ribs. The strike landed diagonally across the side.

Kael's body flew to the ground; he groaned and tried to sit up, but sank to lie on his back. His side was warm and damp with blood, and his breath gargled in his throat.

Arthas grinned and knelt beside his prey; cold steel bit into Kael's neck.

"You have two choices, elf," he hissed "You can beg me to put you out of your misery, or you can live the rest of your pathetic life with the shame of your defeat."

Kael's eyes began to roll back into his head; his skin was growing pale.

"Arthas!" called a frantic voice.

"Choose!" barked Arthas, pressing the blade harder into the elf's throat.

"Arthas!" repeated the voice, in his ear this time. Strong hands gripped his shoulders and tore him from the fallen prince. Arthas stumbled, then sank to all fours. He sat up to see a bearded man in paladin's robes standing over Kael.

"Good Lord, Arthas!" snapped Uther. "What have you done?" He knelt by the elf and slid one hand under his neck, spreading the robes with the other; he sucked in a hiss of breath as he saw the wound. He murmured quietly to the elf as he examined the damage. Kael's eyelids were beginning to flutter and his neck went slack in the paladin's grasp. Uther swore.

"Come on, stay with me," he muttered as he finished his evaluation of the wound.

Arthas let out a loud gasp as he finally reoriented himself. He planted his sword into the ground and leaned his forehead against the hilt, breathing hard. Blood trickled down his nose.

Uther pressed his hand into the bloodied flesh. Kael's back arched and he shrieked. The paladin closed his eyes; Kael's body was enveloped in a yellow glow.

Arthas watched, still gasping for breath. Blood began to gather in his mouth. He spat it onto the trampled earth.

Uther pulled back a few minutes later, visibly exhausted. Kael blinked, then looked around and sat up. He clapped his hands to his mended body. A smile spread across his lips.

"Lord Uther," he said, bowing his head. "So you really are as remarkable as you are rumoured to be. I owe you my life."

"All in the line of duty, your Majesty," said the paladin humbly. "I am just happy to have been able to help." He stood and loomed over Arthas, who was still resting against his sword in a kneel.

"As for you, boy," he said grimly, "you have a hell of a lot of explaining to do."

Arthas looked up.

"I got carried away, Uther," he said solemnly.

"Carried away? Carried away? Bloody hell, Arthas! If I had arrived one minute later..." Uther sighed and trailed off; he bent and put his hand to the man's chin, roughly jerking it up to examine the streaming wound at the bridge of his nose. He shook his head, then let the chin fall.

"Looks like you almost lost an eye. Would have served you right. What the hell do you think you were doing, attacking an ally in cold blood?"

"I'm sorry, Uther, it won't happen again," recited the prince, gritting his teeth. He was well aware of the hint of smugness in Kael's eyes as he watched the scene.

"You're damned right, it won't!" The paladin's cheeks were flushed. "You'll be lucky if you're even allowed onto another battlefield in your lifetime! Lord Almighty..." He sighed and composed himself, then turned back to the elf.

"Prince Kael, you should go rest, or you risk disturbing the healing process. I am very sorry for the Prince's headstrong behaviour."

"Thank you, Lord Uther. I am most grateful." Kael smiled. "And my thanks to you both for helping out today. The Prince is an admirable warrior -- when attacking enemies and not his allies, that is."

"You bastard!" snarled Arthas. Uther reached out a hand to hold him back. He bowed again to the elven prince.

"Thank you, your Majesty. We will head for home tonight. Please let us know if Lordaeron can ever be of service to you again."

The paladin turned and beckoned for Arthas to walk beside him. He waited until they were out of the elf's earshot to speak.

"Sometimes, Arthas," he murmured sadly, "I just don't know what goes on in your head."

The prince gritted his teeth. Guilt was not an emotion he handled well, and anger began to boil in his stomach in response. He brought a hand up to wipe hair from his face, and it returned drenched with crimson.

"I am still losing blood, Uther," he said irritably.

"If it weren't for that little incident," continued the paladin, "I would be congratulating you on your most successful battle to date. Why did you have to go and do something so stupid?" He shook his head. "Your father will be most disappointed."

"I get it already," snapped Arthas, his stomach churning at the thought of his father's disapproval.

"I beg your pardon?" said Uther, an eyebrow raised.

"Nothing," muttered Arthas. He glowered, folding his arms over his chest.

They were silent as they walked through the lines. Troll corpses littered the battlefield -- the human and elven casualties were surprisingly small. There were no more enemy forces, and the troops waited patiently for their next command.

Blood trickled into Arthas' mouth again; he spat.

"My wound is still bleeding," he said pointedly.

Uther sighed and stopped walking.

"Arthas," he said grandly. "I will not heal that wound. Nor will I allow anyone else to."

"What?" demanded Arthas through clenched teeth.

"You will bear that scar for the rest of your life, and every time you see your reflection, you will be reminded of the time you let your temper get the better of you and almost killed an ally in cold blood."

Arthas' voice was low and dangerous: "I will not be marred, Uther."

The paladin turned to his disciple, his eyes sad.

"It's funny, Arthas," he said quietly. "You care so much about your external appearance, and yet you don't give a damn about the ugliness of your soul."

The prince gaped.

Uther turned his gaze away from Arthas' stunned face.

"You can follow behind the troops on the march home, boy; you have clearly shown that you aren't ready to lead." He gave a long sigh, then walked away.

Arthas stared after the figure and sank slowly to his knees. He yelled and slammed his fist into the packed earth, then brought his hands up to cover his face. His teeth sank into his lip as he tried to still his trembling jaw.

"I've never seen him so angry," said a sympathetic voice. Booted feet moved to stand by him. "Arthas? Are you okay?"

The prince lifted his head, his face weary beneath the hood of blond hair. "Syrius, do you have a needle and thread?"

"Yeah, sure." Syrius pulled a package out of his pouch. It held a needle, a thread, and some balm; his mother had given the satchel to him before his first battle, and he had gotten good use out of it since -- mostly stitching up Arthas' wounds after the prince charged headlong into a situation that was too much for him to handle. He sat and threaded the needle. The troops began to file past them, following Uther's command to head back to the camp.

Arthas folded his muscled legs beneath him, shifting uncomfortably to accommodate his bulky armour, and stared absently at the ground. The lord tied the thread, then grabbed his friend's broad chin.

"Cheer up," he said, examining the wound. "He'll get over it eventually.

"Did you see what happened?" asked Arthas quietly. He flinched as Syrius stabbed the needle through the swollen, bleeding flesh.

"Yeah." Syrius sighed and shook his head. "I think everyone did; the trolls had mostly fled by then. You chose a bad place and time to pick a fight."

"Pick a fight?" Arthas tried unsuccessfully to bat the man's hand away. "You think that I-"

"From back here, it sure looked as if you took the first swing," murmured the lord. He slipped the needle through the flesh again. The needle was dull, and he pressed hard against the skin to pierce it. Arthas grunted.

"Damnit, that hurts!" he snapped.

"Calm down," muttered the lord irritably. He put in another stitch; the prince cried out through clenched teeth.

"It's taken out a slice of the bone," apologized Syrius. "Maybe I should go get..." He trailed off as he realized that the priests and the paladins had all been ordered not to help the prince. "If you want," he said instead, "I could get some whiskey and give you a few shots before-"

"It will have swollen more by then," muttered Arthas. "Finish it quickly." His hands clenched into the earth as Syrius made another deep pass with the needle.

"I'm going to kill that stupid little elf," he added, the words jerking with tension.

"That's probably the last thing you should do, under the circumstances." Syrius put in three more stitches, then yanked the thread tight and tied it. "There," he said. He pulled out a handkerchief; the prince took it and rubbed the crusting blood from his face.

"Thanks, Syrius," he said. He turned his head to watch the last of the troops disappear into the trees. A long, low sigh escaped his lips as shame welled in his chest.

"Everyone will forget it soon enough," said Syrius cheerfully, noticing the changes in his friend's face. "Buy everyone an extra pint tonight, and you'll be their hero again."

"That won't work on Uther," muttered Arthas. "Nor on my father."

"Oh, come on," scoffed the lord. "Uther will get over it. And your father won't do anything; you know that. He'll probably laugh and tell you how he did the same thing as a lad, then pat you on the head and say how much you've grown." He stood and helped Arthas to his feet. They began to follow the path back to the camp.

"You should be happy," said Syrius. "We slaughtered them."

Arthas sighed; the lord patted him on the shoulder.

"Look, we'll think of something to get you back in Uther's favour, okay? Tonight, let's grab a few pints and relax." He smiled mischievously. "A few shots of whiskey and a night in the arms of a few elf-women will cheer you right up."

 

 

As Syrius had predicted, the men were more than willing to forget about the incident once a few pints were in their gullets. Arthas bought three rounds, but only had one himself. The last thing he needed was for Uther to find him passed out on the tavern floor; he was so exhausted that even the first pint made him dizzy.

Syrius, as usual, was trying to smooth talk his way into bed; this time, it was with a group of four young elf women.

"Prince Arthas requests your presence in his quarters," he said. "You wouldn't betray a prince's wishes, would you?"  
The women tittered and blushed and giggled.

Arthas sighed. He flagged the barkeep for a glass of water, and bought another round for the men for the hell of it. Syrius leaned over to whisper in his ear.

"The short one has two sisters that would come, too. Let me share your tent and we'll split them fifty-fifty."

"No," said Arthas. "I thought we were going to devise a way to make Uther less angry, not angrier."

"He doesn't have to know! They'll be out of there by midnight, I swear. He won't suspect a thing."

"I'm not in the mood," muttered the prince.

"Okay, then, just let me use your tent and I'll entertain them myself."

Arthas took a long sip of water, then set down the mug. "Any ideas for what I can do to win Uther's favour again?"

"I have an idea; lend me the tent, and I'll tell you!" pleaded the other.

Arthas raised an eyebrow. "Do you really have an idea?"

"Of course!" Syrius cast an anxious glance back at the elf-women, who giggled; one of them waved seductively.

"Okay, okay, fine," said the prince. "Use my tent, but bring-"

"My own sleeping bag. I know." The lord grinned. "Thanks, Arthas. I'll be out by eleven, okay?"

Arthas' other eyebrow rose. "The plan?"

"Oh, right." Syrius leaned closer. "Uther's mad because you struck out against Prince Kael in front of everyone, right? So, to undo that, you show everyone what good buddies you two are, and erase your animosity from their minds."

The prince folded his arms over his chest. "So I'm to hold his hand and skip merrily down the main streets of the Capital City, waving at my people as I go?" he asked dryly.

"Hold a gala in his honour," said Syrius. "Invite everyone you can think of from Quel'Thalas and Lordaeron and they can all watch you share pleasantries and small talk. The attack will fade from everyone's memories, including Uther's, and he'll be impressed at your diplomatic prowess, as will your father. What's more, we get to have a party and drink a little wine, and maybe take home a few women afterwards."

"You know, Syrius," said Arthas, "for a walking sack of hormones, you're pretty bright sometimes." He leaned back in his chair and smiled. "Barkeep," he called, "another round for the men." The men cheered drunken praise of their prince.

"You sure you don't want to come?" said Syrius as he stood. Arthas leaned forward to look at the elf-women again.

"Another time," he said. He clapped his friend on the back. "Have fun."

 

 

The next morning, Arthas brought his horse to walk by Uther's as they began the long journey home. The paladin didn't look at him; the prince cleared his throat.

"Uther," he said, "I really don't know what came over me. I'm sorry."

The paladin let out a low sigh. "Arthas," he said, "apologies can't undo what you've done."

"Syrius and I have been talking," said the prince earnestly. "I think we may have a way to repair some of the damage."

The paladin raised an eyebrow, and a smile finally appeared on his lips. "This ought to be good," he said. "Go ahead."

Arthas explained the plan in detail. Uther's face softened as he listened, and by the end, he was nodding along.

"Perhaps my new friendliness with Prince Kael will even be essential in convincing the Quel'Thalassians to re-commit themselves to the Alliance," finished Arthas; he watched his mentor eagerly.

Uther tilted his head. "I'm impressed," he said. "That's an excellent idea. We will have to ask your father, but I'm certain he will approve." He smiled.

Arthas hid a grin, determined not to show just how much his mentor's praise made him glow.


	3. Book One - II

 

**II**

 

Later that week, Jaina's transport arrived at the town hall of the Capital City. As she stepped off the carriage, it wasn't difficult to spot her friends. Sallia was leaping about, waving her arms; her brown hair sailed behind her as she cried out Jaina's name. Next to Sallia was Deranis, looking as unimpressed with their friend as ever: her chin had dropped so that her thick, curly hair fell into her face, and her mouth was set in a straight line. A petit elf stood timidly behind the women; Jaina assumed she was their third roommate.

"Jaina!" cried Sallia, and she threw herself into her approaching friend's arms. The blonde, weak after her long travels, was almost knocked off her feet.

The three old friends exchanged enthusiastic greetings, then Deranis introduced the elf as Lotimara Greenstar. She was from Quel'Thalas, and studying to enter the Kirin Tor, like the rest of them. She had red-blonde hair and freckles, and kindly, large glowing eyes; her voice was raspy and soft, and adorned with a thick elvish lilt. Jaina liked her at once.

Sallia's servants collected Jaina's luggage and loaded it onto a carriage; the women walked back to the house, which wasn't far from town hall. Jaina gawked around the streets as she walked. She had spent much time in the Capital City area as a child, when her mother brought her and her brother to visit their grandparents. The city had changed a lot since then. Buildings had been erected, most of a white or pink marble, and they towered over the small houses of the middle-class. These houses were decrepit when compared to the vivid, freshly painted houses in Jaina's memory; still, they had full flower gardens, and children played happily in the yards. A nostalgic smile tugged at her lips as she saw a brother and sister playing catch with a small yellow ball.

She expected their new home to be much the same as the worn houses, but its newness shocked her. It was large, almost as tall as a two-story house, with a sharply peaked roof and cross beams of a dark chestnut hue. A small green lawn lay in front of it, and carefully tended flowerbeds lined the walkway to the door. Jaina's eyebrows rose. When she'd heard that Sallia's family had bought her a house, she'd assumed it was a small, one-room home. Trust the Blackbrows to spoil their daughter.

It was when the door opened that she saw how enormous the house truly was. The common room was large enough to hold a full-sized dining table, a divan and some chairs, and a polished clavichord in the corner. Four doors cut the wall on the right-hand side.

"We each have separate bedrooms?" gasped Jaina.

"They're huge!" cried Sallia. "They easily fit a desk, a bed, and a bookshelf! Oh," she added, "but yours is the smallest. We figured it was fair, since you were the last to get here."

"That's fine," murmured Jaina. She'd be spending most of her time at her desk, anyway, so the size of her room wasn't important.

Deranis pointed out the kitchen, and they stepped inside: it had a working woodstove, a full wall of cupboards and shelves, and a working washbasin. A small tub was set over a sheet of coals in the corner; Jaina assumed it was the bathtub. She walked to one of the cupboards and opened it; dozens of different-sized pans lined the wall within. Her eyes widened, and a smile spread across her face.

"This rivals my father's kitchen at home," she breathed.

"You should taste Jaina's cooking!" squealed Sallia to the elf. Jaina cringed; already, she was tiring of the obnoxious woman's company.

After the quick tour of the house, the blonde settled on the floor of her room with her trunk. Deranis knelt beside her and they began to unpack. Sallia, as usual, refused to get her hands dirty; she stood in the doorway and talked instead.

"I wish you could have come yesterday, Jaina!" she exclaimed.

"Here we go," muttered Deranis as she lifted an old book from the trunk. "Brace yourself, Jaina."

"Prince Arthas returned from a glorious battle!" cried Sallia, ignoring her friend's cynicism. "It was raining, but everyone was in the streets, anyway, throwing rose petals and cheering. Oh, Jaina, he's so handsome! His hair is ever so long! And his chin-"

"I know what he looks like, Sallia," interrupted the blonde. Everyone did. Prince Arthas was a hero, even outside of his own kingdom. She imagined he must have a rather swollen head by now.

"They say he single-handedly defeated the troll attackers of Quel'Thalas!" said Sallia dramatically.

Jaina dropped the book she had just lifted from the trunk. Her face paled. "There were no major casualties, were there?" she asked, trying to sound nonchalant. Fortunately, her friends didn't notice her sudden panic.

"No, no. Prince Arthas is too great of a warrior to allow anything to happen to anyone important! You know, they say that without him-"

"Shut up, Sallia," muttered Deranis. "No one cares."

Jaina stared at the book she had dropped, then stood and shooed the others from the room, saying that she needed to rest and recover from her journey. When the door closed behind them, she gathered a fresh scroll, her seal, and a fountain pen. She spread the scroll on her desk, weighting the ends with the seal and its container, then tried to decide what to write. She wanted to sound concerned, but not overbearing. At last, she wrote, with trembling hands,

 

_Dear Kael,_

_I have received word of a battle in Quel'Thalas. I hope you are well, and suffered no great injury. I have arrived safely in Lordaeron; I hope that when you return to Dalaran, you will find your way up to the Capital City to meet me. I will be eagerly awaiting your response._

_Yours Forever,_

_Jaina_

 

She sent the scroll the next morning, making sure that none of her nosy roommates were around to see. Since childhood, Deranis, Sallia and Jaina shared everything with one another; her encounter with Kael had been the first time Jaina had withheld information from them. At first, she didn't tell them out of shyness: she was the first among them to lose her virginity, and the questions they would ask would be embarrassing. But as her relationship with the elven prince flourished through their correspondence, she figured they'd think it strange that she was in love with someone she had only met once. They wouldn't understand that she could keep other lovers and still remain faithful to Kael in her heart; they wouldn't understand why she didn't run up to Quel'Thalas and marry the elf, why she could be patient and grow to love him more through his written word. So, it was probably best that they didn't know.

Despite her caution upon sending the letter, she forgot that the prince would be sending a reply, and her roommates might be around to notice. When the messenger knocked at the door a few days later, all four roommates were gathered in the common room, poring over the introductory texts for the entrance examinations. Loti walked to the door. They heard a few phrases in Elvish; the elf-woman sounded surprised to their ears, though no one knew if it was actual surprise, or just the nuances of the foreign language.

When Loti returned, her mouth hung open. She carefully set a scroll on the table in front of Jaina. The others craned in to stare at the green wax seal.

"From Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider of Quel'Thalas?" asked Sallia incredulously. She turned to look at Jaina. "And just what is your connection to a prince, Jaina?"

"Oh, I don't know," said Jaina, blushing. "I suppose he wants me to help sway my father's opinion on some trade matters." She mentally chastised herself for not answering the door herself.

"Well? Open it!" said the brunette impatiently. When the blonde made no move to, Sallia grabbed the scroll herself and slit the seal with her pocketknife. Jaina cried out in protest, but the brunette ignored her.

"' _Jaina,'"_ read Sallia, embellishing the name with what she imagined to be the perfect impression of an elven lilt. "' _My pulse quickens at the chance to meet with you again. I wondered if you might like to escort me to the upcoming royal gala in the Capital City. I would be honoured by your presence. Yours Forever, Kael.'"_

"'Yours Forever?'" said Deranis, raising an eyebrow. "Jaina! What haven't you been telling us?"

The blonde rubbed at her eye with one hand and sighed.

"We met a long time ago, and we've kept in touch since," she muttered. "He's a friend. It's no big deal." Her cheeks were burning; she bowed her head in an attempt to hide them behind her hair.

"No big deal? He's invited you to escort him to the gala!" exclaimed Sallia. "Everyone important from Lordaeron and Quel'Thalas will be there to see you together!"

"I already said I wasn't going to go when your cousin invited us," said Jaina hesitantly. "I'd be a bit of a hypocrite if-"

"Who cares?" said Deranis. "If you go to a ball for a prince, no one is going to call you a hypocrite." She flashed her eyebrows. "His pulse quickens, Jaina. You can't disappoint him."

"I have to study," insisted the blonde. "We all have to study. We don't have time for princes and balls and frock-shopping."

"You're ready for all three entrance exams already, let alone the first one," scoffed Deranis. "Take a break for one night!"

Jaina looked at Loti, who was already establishing her role as the voice of reason in the house. To her surprise, the elf nodded in agreement.

"You will be a beautiful couple," she said shyly. "If anyone is to escort my prince, I think it should be you, Jaina."

The blonde blushed. "Well, since you all seem to want me to go so badly..." The thought of seeing Kael again so soon made her heart flutter.

"May I write the acceptance letter?" asked Sallia.

"Don't let her!" cried Deranis. "She'll write something like ' _your Majesty, I await your arrival with open thighs.'"_

"Let's get back to studying, okay? I'll write it later," said Jaina with a bit of a sigh. The thought of having the entire nation aware of her relationship with the elven prince was disconcerting, after so many years of the privacy of their letters. She hated being the centre of attention. If people were to lavish admiration on her, she wanted it to be not for her choice of lover, but for something she had worked hard at: her magic.

Unfortunately, as she was eventually to find out, the people of Lordaeron were far more interested in the romantic goings-on of the upper class than of their lifelong passions.

 

 

Over the next few days, as Jaina and her roommates studied and prepared for the gala, Arthas gradually found himself back in Uther's favour. The paladin's temper was quicker than he liked to pretend, and Arthas knew that even something little could set him off again once he was angry. So, he attended every training session on time, even though he was accustomed to missing a few each week out of sheer laziness. He stayed in each night to study, foregoing the chances to go out for drink and women with Syrius. He was docile and servile and submissive, even when he didn't need to be, and especially when he didn't want to be. He was an exemplar disciple and an ardent student.

The prince even made the move of talking to his father and telling him exactly what had happened, begging for a royal pardon. This was the first time he had asked his father for an apology without Uther's urging; the King, as Syrius had predicted, had fondly dismissed his son's behaviour as the rashness of youth. Still, there was a flicker of disappointment in his eyes that tied the prince's stomach in knots for days afterwards.

Despite these conscious efforts to repent, the prince couldn't help feeling that Uther had come down too hard on him. Surely Kael was just as much to blame for the incident -- perhaps more -- but Uther refused to recognize this. Arthas held back this resentment the best he could, but it was beginning to boil deep in his chest, and he feared it would soon burst free; such a thing had been known to happen.

Still, Uther seemed pleased enough with the prince's efforts, so things were going very well indeed.

Things were going so well, in fact, that on the day of the gala, Arthas decided it was okay to miss his afternoon training session with the paladins to prepare for the event. He was determined to have a good time and leave an excellent impression on everyone's minds, and a good impression meant plenty of preparation.

After he bathed, the servants spent almost an hour combing the tangles out of his wiry strawberry blond hair, then plaited it into a long braid -- he wanted to wear it loose, as usual, but they insisted that braids were the current fashion among the aristocracy. They dabbed a mix of perfumes onto his skin and then pulled on tan pants and a white shirt. The shirt's collar was too tight; he grunted as the servants struggled to help him close it.

"You've been putting on muscle again, Milord," chided the elder servant, Torina. "Sara: go fetch a larger size from the wardrobe."

The other servant nodded and skittered to the closet, bringing back a larger size. When it was on, Sara ran to fetch the prince's blue cape. Torina pinned the prince's collar at the throat with a gold broach bearing the Lordaeron insignia.

"There," she said, tapping the pin once with a gnarled finger. "You look right handsome, Milord, if I may say so myself. The ladies won't be able to keep their hands off of you."

"Let's hope so, Torina," replied Arthas wryly. "God knows I could use the love of a good woman right about now. I've been a good boy for far too long." He swatted her away as she tried to powder his face. "None of that crap."

"Just a little for your nose," insisted Torina. He sighed and relented, then winced as her brush touched the swollen flesh. The wound was infected; though the swelling had finally gone down this morning, the area was still noticeably red. The stinging pain reminded him of his fight with the elven prince, and anger rose in his chest. He gritted his teeth.

"There," said Sara as she finished pinning the robe to the man's shoulders. She stepped off the stool and stood back to admire her work.

"It's crooked," she said, and she stepped back onto the stool to fix it.

"Do hurry," said Arthas, annoyed. "I'm supposed to be at the hall when that stupid elf arrives."

A knock sounded at the door.

"What?" snapped Arthas, still vexed at being delayed.

Uther opened the door and stepped into the room. He folded his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow at the youth, demanding explanation. The anger that had been trapped so diligently within Arthas began to rise.

"Oh, come on, Uther!" he snapped. "One class. One!"

"You missed four classes when you were in Quel'Thalas, lad. It was going to be difficult enough to catch you up through those." Uther's voice was weary. "And we won't even get into your spotty attendance before that."

"So, we'll catch up tomorrow, after you've had a chance to rest," retorted the prince. He yelled as something jabbed into his shoulder, and turned to see Sara still fidgetting with the pins.

"Watch what you're doing, woman!" he snapped. "Aren't you done yet?"

"Sorry, Milord," said the servant unapologetically; she had dealt with the prince for far too many years to be bothered by his temperamental outbursts. "It must be straightened properly or you will look lopsided."

Arthas sighed, then felt angry eyes bore into him; he lifted his chin to glare at his mentor. "Are you still here, Uther?" he asked irritably.

"Calm yourself, boy," said Uther tersely. "You aren't going to be doing yourself any favours by meeting with Prince Kael in this mood."

"What mood?" snapped the prince. "I'm perfectly fine!"

Torina quickly fled to the prince's back to help Sara with the cape before either of the men could see her struggling not to laugh at her master.

Uther rubbed his brow with the palm of his hand, sighed, and shook his head. He loved the boy dearly, but it was times like these that made him want to retire.

"We'll deal with this when you're more reasonable, Arthas," he murmured. He strode angrily from the room. The prince glared after him, his jaw twitching. He opened his mouth and would have yelled had the servant not interrupted:

"Done, Milord!"

"About time," muttered the prince, embarrassed by his anger; the embarrassment made him angrier still. He yanked the robes from her grasp and stormed from the room, muttering under his breath.

The servants looked at one another, then began to laugh.

"Haven't seen him this grumpy in ages," chuckled Torina, clucking her tongue.

"Which one?" murmured the other with a grin. "They're both in such a flap since they got back from Quel'Thalas. Whatever happened there?"

"I'll tell you about it over tea," said Torina as they left the room.

 

 

"You really need to start combing your hair instead of hiding it, Jaina," grunted Sallia as she yanked a comb through her friend's snarls. "I'm going to chop all the hoods off your cloaks so that you're forced to untangle it and bare it to the world!"

Deranis glared, not bothering to hide her envy. Her own hair was black and tightly curled; the human men preferred the 'exotic' look of blondes, and mostly ignored her. The elves, on the other hand, adored Deranis' hair, dark freckled skin and green eyes, but she ignored the elven men for reasons no-one understood.

Lotimara entered the room wearing a traditional blue elven gown; it cinched on her tiny waist, then flared like a bell around her legs. She spun around for her roommates' approval.

"Wow," said Deranis. "Who are you all dolled up for?" The elf usually wore only the plain, unflattering hunting garb of elven archers.

Loti blushed. In truth, she was nervous about the gala. She was the only one of the roommates without a drop of noble blood, and it terrified her to think that she might be seen as a lowly commoner at this gathering. She wouldn't have dared to go had Sallia's mysterious cousin not said specifically to bring all of her roommates.

The brunette combed the last snag out of Jaina's hair, then rushed into her room to change. Jaina hummed to herself as she floated to the powder table.

"Use the green kohl," called Sallia from behind the closed door of her bedroom. Jaina eyed the green substance. She was accustomed to wearing a thin layer of powder only; after a moment, she gritted her teeth and began to spread it on her eyelids.

Sallia emerged a few minutes later, wearing a pale pink dress that exposed a large amount of cleavage.

"How do I look?" she asked.

"Like a harlot," said Deranis dryly.

"Perfect," said Sallia with a wink. She looked anxiously at the clock; they were supposed to meet Syrius in a few minutes.

"Come on," she said to Deranis. "Help me put up Jaina's hair so we can get going."

The blonde flushed, aware that, as usual, she was holding everyone else up. It was a pattern that had begun early in their childhood, and one that would likely continue until she died.

Once the hair was up, they grabbed their cloaks and their shoes and rushed to the ballroom.

 

 

The ballroom was already milling with humans and elves when they arrived. Jaina stood on her tiptoes, to no avail. Deranis, who was the only one tall enough to see over the crowd, acted as a scout.

"Is he here yet?" asked Jaina impatiently.

"Elven man, really handsome, wheat blonde hair, red mage's robes?" asked Deranis, deadpan.

"Yes, yes, yes. Where is he?" demanded Jaina with good humour.

"Awfully impatient for someone who's just a friend, aren't we, Jaina?" said Sallia. "Hey, Deranis, is my cousin here yet?"

"How the hell should I know?" The woman turned to Jaina. "Your prince is in the opposite corner from us. He's looking around with big lonely eyes. You'd best hurry."

Jaina cried a quick farewell and began to leave.

"Wait!" said Sallia. She put one hand on the blonde's shoulder, then used the other to fix the kohl around her eyes, which had already smudged. "You really have to stop rubbing at your face when you're wearing make-up," she scolded. "You look like a ghoul."

The blonde danced in place as she waited until the woman was done her ministrations; then, she bolted into the crowd. Deranis and Sallia exchanged a smile. It was odd to see Jaina excited about something other than magic.

After a moment, the crowds began to thin by the wine table.

"Over here," said Deranis, cocking her head in its direction. Loti bent and began to select the wine with the expertise common among the elven people.

"He's not here yet," muttered Sallia crossly as she scanned the room for her cousin. Trust Syrius to be late. She folded her arms over her chest and stared fixedly at the entrance.

 

 

Across the room, Kael looked up from his wine to see a beautiful blonde approach. A smile tugged at his lips and he sat his goblet on the floor against the wall.

She was a few inches taller than when he had last seen her, though she was still petite. Her lilac dress was tight enough to show full, rounded hips and a slender waist. Her cheekbones were stronger and her brows more womanly.

"Jaina," he said warmly.

"I hope I don't seem an old hag to you now, Kael," she grinned; her cheeks flushed as he looked her up and down.

"On the contrary," he said. "You are absolutely ravishing. I look forward to getting to know the woman you have become." He offered her a hand; she took it, and he led her onto the floor.

The elf looked much the same; his nose was a bit sharper, his brows a bit longer, but the snub upper lip and gentle glowing eyes were just as she remembered. His shoulders were broader, and his slender muscles more toned.

He led her around the floor with such power that she struggled to keep up. The elf grinned kindly and slowed his pace.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "I guess I've been too busy studying to learn how to dance properly."

"It's okay," he said. "We'll have plenty of time to practice when we're in Dalaran together."

She blushed even more deeply; he smiled, and his clawed fingers pressed gently into her lower back, urging her closer.

 

 

Sallia impatiently nursed a glass of champagne as she focussed on the stairway. Syrius was now twenty minutes late. It wasn't as if he was really keeping her from something important -- none of the men had asked her to dance yet -- but the point was that they could have, so he could have been holding her up. This annoyed her.

The men at the door suddenly lifted their trumpets to their lips and played a few notes. The announcer cleared his throat.

"Prince Arthas Menethil of Lordaeron. Lord Syrius Blackbrow the Third," he announced.

Sallia's mouth dropped. She stood on her toes. Descending the stairs, beside her dark-haired cousin, was a blond with a long blue cape. She gasped.

"Oh...oh, my!" she fluttered. "He's with Prince Arthas!"

Deranis let out a slow, annoyed sigh as she anticipated her friend's melodramatic behaviour. Sure enough, Sallia grabbed them by the hand and began to drag them across the room. They had to get to him now, before he left Prince Arthas' side! The elf and the woman wrenched their hands free; she ignored them and continued on her path.

"Now you finally get to see the painful display that is Sallia in action, Loti," murmured Deranis quietly. The elf looked up, a bit confused; Deranis added, "just watch."

Arthas and Syrius paused at the wine table, their backs to the crowd as they examined the bottles. Sallia stood behind them and cleared her throat.

"Syrius!" she cried. "Aren't you going to introduce me to this handsome man at your side?"

The men turned around; Sallia's eyes widened with feigned surprise as she looked at Arthas, then she sagged into a curtsy.

"Milord," she said. "Forgive my insolence. I had no idea it was you."

"Stage one of Sallia's wooing method: the incredibly stupid pick-up line," murmured Deranis to Loti.

"That was a pick-up line?" asked Loti, surprised. "I wouldn't have guessed. What's stage two, then?"

"She lays on her back and opens her legs," murmured the other.

Loti snorted; they moved to stand by their friend and curtsied to the prince. His eyes trailed across the three women, then he smiled.

"Syrius," said Arthas, "you didn't tell me that you kept the company of three such beautiful young women."

"I haven't kept the company of this one in many years," said the lord as he jerked a thumb in the direction of the eager brunette. "She is my cousin, Lady Sallia Blackbrow of Kul Tiras, and these would be..." The lord trailed off and ran a hand through his dark locks as he realized he didn't know the other two. The curly-haired one was familiar, but...

"This is Deranis el Silva, daughter of Lady Menya el Silva of Kul Tiras," said Sallia grandly. "And this is Lotimara Greenstar of Quel'Thalas." Loti flushed, painfully aware of the lack of titles attached to her name. She tried to hide a little behind Deranis' back.

"Miss Lotimara," murmured the prince, "would you happen to be the daughter of the distinguished Priest Greenstar?" When she nodded, he added, "I have had the honour of fighting at his side in battle many times." He bowed cordially. "I am honoured to meet the daughter of such a fine man. He is an excellent healer and an inspiration to all aspiring holy men."

Loti's blush deepened, but she smiled, pleased.

"I wonder," said Arthas, addressing all of them, "would you ladies have a dance free for us in a few minutes?"

"Of course, Milord!" gushed Sallia.

"Good," said Arthas. "We'll make some rounds, then return to find you. Does that sound good, Syrius?"

"Certainly," said the lord.

"Then we shall see you shortly, ladies," said Arthas. He bowed, then he and Syrius walked away.

"Oh...my...God!" shrieked Sallia. "He's so bloody hot! That sturdy chin -- I could shower kisses on it all night."

"I'm quite impressed, actually," said Deranis, surprised. "I'd always heard he was a bit of an egomaniac, but he poured on the sugar quite nicely there. Very convincing."

"He was polite," said Loti, blushing a little.

They stared at the dance floor, lost in thought.

"I'd forgotten all about Jaina," said Deranis suddenly. "Wasn't Syrius keen to meet her?"

"Her loss," said Sallia a bit enviously. "She already has a sexy prince to dance with, so no Prince Arthas for her. She'll meet Syrius later, when he's alone."

They watched as Kael led their friend around the floor. His hand at her lower back was sliding lower still, bringing her subtly closer to his body as they spun around the floor. Their eyes were locked, and a smile was on the elf's face.

"Look: the little devil is trying to cop a feel on her backside;" laughed Deranis. Loti glared; she was offended that the woman would dare talk about the elven prince that way in her presence.

"Now he's whispering in her ear! Oh, how romantic!" cried Sallia.

Loti sighed.

"Let them have their moment," she said, and she began to read over the wine labels again.

 

 

"Arthas," said Syrius as they walked to the area where the elven guests were gathered. "Are you okay?"

"Why do you ask?" murmured Arthas.

"Your fearsome eyes belie your cheerful countenance, Milord," said Syrius with an exaggerated bow. The prince didn't even crack a smile at his friend's clownish display.

"And here I thought I was hiding my anger well," he mused bitterly.

"Uther?" asked Syrius.

"It's always Uther," snapped Arthas. "I don't know what's wrong with him lately. Everything I do makes him angry!"

"Then maybe you should stop trying to please him," said the lord with a shrug. "Relax, have some fun, enjoy the wine and the women."

"I wish I could have fun, but I vowed to be civil to that stupid elf." Arthas sighed and cast his glare across the room. "Where the hell is he?"

"He's busy," said Syrius as he pointed to the elf and Jaina on the dance floor. Arthas watched the lovers. The woman was somewhat short, with a startlingly curvy figure and broad shoulders to accommodate her large breasts. Her face was narrow, and almost feline, with enormous blue eyes, a long, thin nose, and a small mouth. Her hair was golden-brown at the roots and tapered quickly to a shocking blonde. She had a curious beauty about her and the prince watched, somewhat bitterly, as the elven prince lowered her into a dip and whispered something in her ear.

"She's quite striking, isn't she?" said Syrius in a low voice. "I don't think I've seen her around before. Must have come with him from Dalaran or something."

Arthas sighed and turned his back. "How does an incompetent like him end up with a woman like that?"

"The way the women titter about him, it doesn't surprise me," said Syrius, shaking his head. "There's something about the sullen type that draws the ladies."

"Well, I'm sullen," muttered Arthas crossly.

"No; you're irritable and hot-headed. There's a difference." Syrius laughed at his friend's insulted expression and clapped him on the back, then continued.

"Fortunately for you, that seems to draw women, too. My cousin has the loosest legs in the land, and she's set her eyes on you. And I think the cute elf-girl was giving you the once over. If I can win the dark one's stormy heart, maybe we can end up with a long night of free love ahead of us." He raised an eyebrow. "But you have to draw the curtain when you're working on Sallia, okay? There are some things a family member should never have to see."

That, at last, got a chuckle out of the prince.

"You're vulgarity never fails to surprise me, Syrius," he murmured.

"Yet you still think it's a good idea," said the lord.

"Well, let's at least go ask them to dance," said Arthas with a hint of a smile.

 

 

The dance floor was crowded: it had been a long time since an event of this nature had occurred in the Capital City. There were many mixed couples, humans and elves, and it brought a smile to Jaina's face to see the races melding together. The people back home in Kul Tiras, wary after long battles with the orcs, had become closed off from other races. It infuriated her.

Jaina's eyes drifted from Kael's and roamed; they stopped their wandering as they found Sallia. The brunette was on the dance floor with a tall man with a long blond braid. From the back, he seemed well-proportioned, and he was certainly a good dancer. Jaina smiled, happy for her friend. Sallia was rarely on the dance floor; men had always found her too forward.

The couple spun, and Jaina's eyes widened as she recognized the man as Prince Arthas. He shot Sallia a polite smile. Jaina watched, transfixed, as she saw the living, breathing equivalent of the face she had seen so many times before; now she saw that the artists hadn't exaggerated the prince's handsomeness when they painted his portraits. His skin glowed with a radiance that belied his experience on the battlefield. His profile was long and exquisitely shaped, his features symmetrical, down to a perfectly formed cleft chin. His forehead was broad and his brow heavy; his cheekbones were high and strong. The couple spun away; Jaina's gaze drifted down the smooth queue of his warm blond hair, past the fashionable clothes to the thick hunter's boots, then back up to the enormously broad shoulders. He moved with unmatched power and a gracefulness that was surprising for a man of his build.

Jaina's eyes snapped back to Kael as she realized he was watching her with a smile on his lips.

"Ah, so it is still there," said the elven prince as he caressed the twitching fiber of her upper lip. He had wondered if the delicate tic still existed; the sensation of it under his fingertips was one of his most vivid memories of their time together.

She flushed. "Kael, maybe we should go for a breath of fresh air."

"That sounds like a good idea," he said. "Shall we stop by the wine tables first?"

He led her to the tables and examined the wine bottles closely; then, finding one he approved of, unstopped it and poured her a rather large portion. As he did so, she looked around the room. Prince Arthas had disappeared. She frowned, chiding herself for entertaining such a silly, random crush when Kael was right in front of her.

The elven prince smiled at her. "Come," he said gently as he handed her the goblet and led her outside.

 

 

A large group was gathered just beyond the doors, tittering with phony, drunken laughter; Kael led Jaina past it and to a shadowed corner where the hedges met the building. The moon was half full, and the sky was thick with stars.

"It's a gorgeous night," she said.

"Indeed it is," he replied. He held out his glass in a silent toast, then downed half of the wine in one graceful swallow. She took a deep sip; it was strong and sweet, and so potent that she immediately grew dizzy.

"Elven wine?" she asked.

"Yes; blackberry. It's from my personal orchards," he said with a smile.

"It's lovely." She took another sip.

Kael leaned against the wall; she did the same. Their shoulders pressed together, side-by-side, as they drank their wine and stared at the sky. Kael drained the rest of the drink save for a tiny drop; he swirled it in the bottom of his glass and closed his eyes. Jaina's warmth emanated from her arm, and he could smell the sweet lavender of her perfume.

After a moment, his left hand dropped and brushed against her right; she trembled slightly as she took it. His skin was fiercely warm against hers. The wine began to stir memories of emotions and sensations that she had been too young to fully appreciate at the time. She finished her wine and bent to sit the goblet on the grass; he did the same with his, tucking it carefully out of the way. Then he turned to face her.

"I've missed you, Jaina," he whispered, and her heart finally began to flutter.

His hand slid along her jaw and to the back of her neck, where it rested gently, his claws tangled in the strands of hair that had come loose during their dances. She pressed her hand to his chest, gripping the fabric of his red shirt as he bent down.

His mouth was warm and soft, and his lips vibrated slightly as a low groan slid from between them. His kisses had grown more practiced and precise; each tiny movement of his tongue left her in gasps. Her hand tightened its grip on his shirt.

The sharp, quick breaths from her nose were hot against his cheek. Kael moaned softly into her mouth and pressed his body flat to hers; the stone wall was cold against her back, and his dark cape swung around them, obscuring their bodies in the darkened corner.

Jaina ran a hand down the front of his torso and hesitated shyly above his waistband. It rested there, rubbing against his firm abdomen, until his impatience won over his manners. He gently gripped the wrist and slid it lower. Her hand fastened around him through the robes, and, the wine fuelling her courage, she gave a daring tug. He broke their kiss with a gasp to hook his narrow chin over her shoulder.

She squeezed him hard; her thumb traced up the fabric to the tip of his erection and ran in firm, massaging circles. His hot breath landed in shuddering bursts against the skin of her upper back. He pressed one palm delicately into her breast, then slid it down her body to nestle against her groin. The heat floated through the silk of her frock. Her eyes slid closed as he began to rub between her legs with his narrow palm. Her pulse fluttered in her throat as warmth began to spread through her lower body.

"How I have longed for this, Jaina," he whispered.

In response, her hand slid under his waistband. He hissed; his free hand pressed to the wall beside her head, and five clawed fingernails scraped against the stone. Her hand was warm, and the sensation of bare skin to bare skin was overwhelming. He ached to slide his own hand against the damp warmth of her flesh, but the frock was so long that this would be impossible without splitting the skirt and hiking it up completely. Even with his cape acting as a curtain, this wouldn't be subtle should someone chance upon them.

"I cannot do the same to you," he breathed; the regret in his words was drowned by his pleasure as her thumb slid across his moist tip.

Jaina turned so that her lips pressed against his ear. "Later, then," she murmured, and her hand began to jerk with a steady rhythm beneath the thick fabric. He whispered something in Elvish under his breath, his eyes closed, and his muscles began to tense with such force that his pointed chin dug uncomfortably into her shoulder. She shifted a little to ease the pressure, then brought her tongue to the lobe of his ear, greedily tracing the lengthy border to the tip, then back down again.

The hand at her groin dropped to scoop her thigh. Kael lifted her leg and urged it to wrap around his torso; she was more than happy to comply. He leaned harder into her unrelenting grip. Her frock hung open between them, and he decided that he didn't care to restrain himself anymore. A clawed finger slid beneath the fabric and began to inch up the warm, soft skin; her head dropped back to rest against the wall, and her mouth sagged open as her hand quickened its pace.

"Milord," said a gruff voice.

On reflex, Jaina's hand jerked from Kael's robes and rested at her side, even though their bodies were well hidden by his cloak. The elven prince gave an annoyed sigh; his brows narrowed over his closed eyes.

"What is it, Tancred?" he muttered without lifting his head from the woman's shoulder

"Lord Lowenbrau is here, Milord. He wishes to speak with you immediately regarding the lumber treaty." The elf was short and surly; he glared at Jaina, and her brows pinched at his unprovoked vehemence.

"Can't it wait?" asked the elven prince a bit anxiously, lifting his head.

"He insists," said Tancred. "I told him you were busy with this..." He trailed off as he realized he shouldn't insult the object of his prince's affection; Jaina stared.

"Very well. Thank you," said the prince. After the messenger left, Kael gently lowered the blonde's leg to the ground and slid his hands to rest on either of her shoulders.

"I'm sorry. I anticipate this won't take long," he murmured as he bent to give her a soft, lingering kiss.

"I'll meet you inside shortly, then," said Jaina with a polite smile. She watched him as he picked up his goblet and departed. A sigh slid from her lips and she stared absently across the lawn as she contemplated the perplexing emotions swirling through her mind.

Her body craved him; had he torn open her dress and ravished her, she wouldn't have protested. Looking back, sex with Kael had been more fantastic than any love she'd experienced since, and his movements and advances now showed that, if anything, he had only improved since their first encounter -- and now she was old enough and experienced enough to fully appreciate them. She knew he would make slow, sensual love to her, probably by candlelight, and they would cuddle and share kisses long into the night. Then he would whisk her away to Dalaran and they'd spend the rest of their days in a mad frenzy of lovemaking and study.

But the thought of a future with Kael left her strangely apathetic. She tried to summon the love and excitement she had felt for him over the past few years, but it was gone; it was if as if, tonight, someone had taken a vacuum to her heart and drained every drop of affection. It didn't make any sense.

Perhaps it was her impending exams. She had what Deranis liked to refer to as a "physical addiction to study," and this nonplussed attitude was probably a withdrawal symptom. She smiled, amused by her own bookishness. Yes, this was certainly the problem: her anxiety was eclipsing her love for the elven prince. Her ambivalence would fade once the worry of the exam was out of the way.

 

 

She shortly realized then that she was still absently staring, and her eyes were fixed on a tree, not twenty feet from her. A man sat at the base of it, partially hidden by the shadows. At first, she worried he had been spying on them, but then she realized his back was turned as he gazed up at the sky. He seemed sad and alone. The pleasant wine and coursing hormones fueled her good nature; he probably needed someone to talk to, she reasoned. Somewhat timidly, she approached.

It was only when she was a few feet away that she recognized the symbol on the man's cape as the crest of Lordaeron. Her eyes trailed up the long plait of hair, and it confirmed her suspicious: the man was Prince Arthas. It would be rude to approach a prince uninvited; she turned to leave, but he had heard her footsteps. He turned his head, and a polite smile spread across his lips.

"Good evening, fair maiden," he said. "Isn't the moon beautiful tonight?"

His voice matched his frame: velvetty and strong, but not intimidating. It was the sort of voice that always seemed to be tinged with a hint of irony. Her heart fluttered as she realized he was waiting for an answer.

"It is," she said shyly. "I have never seen it so bright without being full." She stepped forward, and the moonlight illuminated her face.

Recognition overcame Arthas' features, and the left corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk. He turned so that he sat facing her; his knees lolled casually in his arms.

"You are the Lady who was busy groping Kael in the corner a few moments ago, aren't you?" he asked.

She bowed her head, shamed. "I thought we were carefully hidden from view," she murmured.

"Your secret is safe with me, Milady," he said kindly. "Though I imagine the gossip about your relationship will spread soon enough; he did, after all, refuse to dance with any ladies but you."

His hands unwrapped from his knees and he slowly rose to stand before her. His hands brushed against the side of his pants, straightening them, as he gazed intently at her.

"But what of you, fair maiden?" he asked, his voice low. "Would you refuse any other man who dared approach?"

Her face rouged. "Indeed, I would, Prince Arthas," she said sweetly. "Especially if the man in question were the bitter rival of my elven prince. I would think the invitation was out of spite, not out of genuine attraction."

Arthas laughed at the unexpected pluck of her response, revealing a set of startlingly straight teeth.

"Evidently that incompetent elf has an immaculate taste in women. Your spirit is exceeded only by your haunting beauty." His lips settled once more into the warm smirk. "...and should you question my intentions, Milady, I can assure that these compliments are not born of spite for your elven prince."

"Then they are suspiciously accepted," she said with a raised eyebrow. "But I think I shall choose to ignore them and go find my 'incompetent' elven prince instead, for I can assure you that he has many other talents aside from his immaculate taste in women, and I intend to put them to good use." She flushed; had she really just said all that? Flirtation and teasing were not abilities that came easily to her, but now the discourteous words streamed effortlessly from her lips. He raised an eyebrow, amused by her brashness, then gave a bow.

"Then goodnight for now, Milady. May our paths cross again in the future; I enjoy being at the receiving end of your sharp tongue." Something akin to a blush settled across his cheeks at his own double entendre.

Her head bowed and a bashful giggle slipped from her lips before she could stop it; embarrassed, she ducked away.

Arthas watched until she was in the building, a smile still on his lips. He looked back to the moon, intent on fuming over Uther some more, but the all-consuming anger that had driven him out here in the first place faded from his mind as Kael's lady friend's crisp, sweet voice permeated his thoughts. His eyes slipped closed; her nervous giggle reverberated through his mind. It seemed so out of character after her brazen flirtations. The woman had an intriguing mix of shyness and bravado.

After a short while, Arthas stood and brushed the dust from his cloak and pants. His feet took him to the corner where Jaina and Kael had been engaged behind the elf's cloak. She had left her goblet behind. He crouched and took it between two fingers, running his thumb across the smooth glass. Perhaps he would refill it and return it to her with a witty line about wine, or goblets, and she would be so impressed that she would insist he stay while she drank it. Try as he might, however, no witty lines came to his mind.

It was just as well; when he entered the hall, the woman was dancing with the elven prince. Interrupting probably wasn't the best way to show the Kingdoms that he and Kael were on good terms. Arthas sighed and handed the glass to a servant. He was about to look for a dance partner when Syrius ran up to him, a half-full mug of ale in hand.

"There you are!" cried the lord. "They've finally opened the kegs -- took a lot of bribing, but, hey!" He held out the glass as proof of his triumphs.

Arthas grabbed the mug and drained it in one gulp, ignoring Syrius' protests; he considered the taste.

"Terrible," he said, handing back the empty mug.

"Oh, you and your ale snobbery," said Syrius. "It'll do fine. Let's knock back a few pints and then-"

"No," said Arthas. "I can't, and I won't. Uther would slaughter me."

"You mean, you won't because you're determined to stay grumpy," said Syrius. "C'mon. Live a little! Uther can't get mad at you for having one pint." He grabbed his friend's arm and led him to the kegs.

 

 

Kael's body pressed close to Jaina as they whirled around the floor. He had whisked her away to dance the second she returned, cutting short his talk with Lord Lowenbrau. Diplomacy was the last thing on his mind tonight. His hand clawed at her lower back as the song ended, and he leaned in close to her ear.

"If you want, we could slip away for a little while again..." he began.

She sighed, and slowed to a stop; her head hung low. He watched, confused, then ran his hand gently across her cheek.

"Jaina?"

The woman sighed. "Kael," she whispered, "I don't think...I mean, I think I should go home now."

His long brows furrowed, and she hurriedly added, "it's not that your kisses aren't sweet, or that I don't enjoy your company. I just can't stop thinking about the exams. I don't think I'll be able to relax until..." She sighed. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her chin dropping further.

"I understand," he murmured. "I was the same way, too, when I was applying. Nerves make it difficult to have a good time." His hand rubbed soothingly against her arm. "I will escort you home now, then. Perhaps we can meet for tea tomorrow afternoon, and I can take you through a practice exam?"

A smile spread across her narrow lips as she lifted her head. "Thank you for understanding, Kael," she whispered. "That would be lovely."

He smiled back and then gazed intently into her eyes. He wanted to ask her to accompany him back to his room at the inn; surely, they could get more studying done in the morning if she spent the night. His longing for her was so deep and desperate that he would even run through the practice examination with her as they made love just to get the chance to lie with her. The image of her gasping out answers in rhythm with their movements was so comical that a smirk overtook his lips; she shot him a confused look. Aware he was acting mad, he shook it from his face. His hand pressed to her lower back as he guided her off the dance floor.

 

 

Jaina was certain Kael expected to be invited in, but she had been serious when she had said she could only think of study. He left her with a long kiss and departed. As the door closed behind him, Jaina walked to her bedroom and lifted the box of the scrolls they had exchanged over the years; she had brought some of her favourites with her. She unrolled one. As she read through the words, her pulse began to race and her breath quickened; no such thing happened when Kael was with her in person. She closed her eyes and tried to recall her physical attraction for him, tried to recall the pulsating of his erection within her grasp. But the attraction to the elven prince she had felt then had disappeared with her arousal, and now her mind was empty of all longing for him.

"This is ridiculous," she murmured. She focussed on his face in her mind. Narrow jaw. Glowing blue eyes. Long blond hair. Long blond hair...woven tightly into a braid...

And now, an image formed clearly before her closed eyes: the face of Prince Arthas as a slight blush tickled his cheeks, the one-cornered smile on his lips. Her heart pounded in her throat. She clutched at her forehead with quivering hands and tried to will the vision away, but it burned stubbornly in her mind, his turquoise eyes twinkling in the moonlight.

 

 

Kael, meanwhile, returned to the gala with slightly dampened spirits. Jaina's intoxicating smell lingered in his nostrils, and arousal coursed through his veins. The thought of dancing with anyone but her revolted him, as did the thought of passing the night making small-talk with strangers. He wanted to curl up in bed and spend the night reminiscing about the beautiful morning they had long ago shared, but that wasn't an option: he had diplomatic duties to fulfill.

He was aware that he should speak to Prince Arthas at some point during the evening, but the idea didn't appeal to him at all. So, he put it off: he nursed several goblets of wine and slunk about the shadows, watching the other lords and ladies converse. He slipped from conversation to conversation, leaving when each grew boring or phony.

At some point between conversations, he heard someone call his name. He turned to see a tall man in paladin's robes standing behind him, his grey-flecked red beard trailing down his chest. A smile spread across the elf's lips as he recognized him.

"Lord Uther," said Kael with a bow. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"I didn't intend to come," replied the paladin pleasantly. He bowed, too. "But I thought I would ask how your wounds were healing."

"I haven't noticed any sign of injury since the day you healed me," replied the elf graciously.

"Good," said the paladin. After a moment, he added, "Have you seen Prince Arthas about?" He had a terrible suspicion that the boy hadn't bothered to speak with the elven prince yet.

"I have been...busy," said Kael with a small smile. "I intend to find him shortly."

"Good," said Uther again. "Could you send him my way when you're done speaking with him, please?" He added gruffly, "I was a bit hard on him earlier today, and I think it has put him in a foul mood."

"It doesn't seem to take much to do so," muttered the elf wryly, the alcohol sharpening his tongue. "But certainly, Lord Uther. I will send him your way."

"Excellent. Have a good evening, your Majesty," said the paladin as he wandered back into the crowd.

 

 

"Hey, Arthas," slurred Syrius. "I think...I think that elf-woman is checking you out. The brunette over there."

"No way," mumbled the prince. "She's...she's got legs up to her neck...I should...I should..."

"You should grab her and make slow, sweet love to her in the kitchen," supplied Syrius. He leaned heavily on his friend's shoulder; Arthas staggered slightly.

"Slow, sweet love," echoed Arthas. He stopped and blinked, disoriented as he looked around.

"Where the hell did she go?" he muttered.

"She's too quick for you, old boy," mumbled Syrius. He stopped and his eyes widened. "Hey...is that Lord Uther?"

"Uther?" Arthas jolted back to something near sobriety as he saw the paladin, chatting with Prince Kael'thas across the room. "What, has he come to check on me?" he growled. His hands tightened into fists.

"Run away before he sees you! Grab the hot elf-woman and go make slow, sweet love to her in-"

"Shut up," snapped Arthas. He ran his hands over his flushed cheeks and stood tall, wavering a little. "Do I look...do I look sober?"

"No," said Syrius, and he began to laugh.

"Okay, then," said the prince, cross. "I'll talk to the bloody elf prince and then get...get the hell out of here before Uther notices me."

"One more drink first," slurred Syrius, handing his friend a mug.

 

 

Kael was engaged in a glass of white wine nearly twenty minutes later when someone croaked behind him:

"I'm...I'm supposed to..."

Kael turned to the owner of the voice. One elongated eyebrow shot up as he saw the staggering prince and his friend.

"Prince Arthas," said Kael, and he motioned to the half-full mug in the man's hand. "I see you have spent the evening engaged in an activity that suits your intelligence and personality. Lordaeron will be proud the day you ascend the throne."

"That wasn't very nice," muttered Syrius.

Arthas squinted at the elf. "Don't be like that, elf. I'm supposed to make...small talk." He sagged in his friend's arms; Syrius grunted to hold the enormous man aloft.

Kael smirked. "Small talk, you say? Well, I suppose we could talk about that little wound on your nose. Is it healing well?"

The human prince glared. "You...you son of a bitch."

"Easy, Arthas," muttered Syrius as they lurched forward. Kael took a step back, holding his wine glass carefully out of harm's way.

"I do apologize," he said, bowing. "I tend to be sarcastic when I've had a bit to drink. I hope I'm not offending. I assure you that my taunting is only out of the greatest respect for you."

Arthas squinted again. Then he started to laugh.

"You're all right!" he cried. "I like you, elf!"

"Of course you do," muttered the elven prince, not sure whether to be amused, confused or disgusted; he brought the wine to his lips again.

"Prince Arthas!" called Uther's voice pleasantly.

"Here come the big guns," murmured Syrius. "You'd better...you'd better straighten up, Arthas."

His friend lolled against him, still laughing; the ale poured from his glass onto the shiny floor.

"Arthas," said Uther again; he stood before them. "I've been looking-" He stopped as he saw the faltering prince.

"You're drunk," he exclaimed, surprised.

"Of course not, Uther," slurred Arthas "I'm just...blending in. With the crowd. Like a good boy." He pitched forward. The paladin caught him by his collar and held him upright.

"Perhaps you'd best be leaving now," he said delicately.

"But I'm having a fabulous time," drawled Arthas.

The paladin winced as a wave of alcohol-drenched breath hit his nostrils. He set the prince upright and let go; the prince began to sag again. Uther caught him, gritting his teeth.

"Okay, Arthas," he said, as if speaking to a naughty child. "Let's get you out of here."

The prince wavered to a stand and pushed the man away. He stared at his mentor through lazy eyes, then finally opened his mouth to speak.

"Uther," he said, slowly and loudly, "have you ever made slow, sweet love to a woman in the kitchen?"

Syrius began to howl with laughter; he sagged into his friend's side, and the two nearly tumbled to the floor.

The paladin's face twitched. People around them were beginning to stare. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm his fury.

"Arthas..." he said.

"I often wondered," slurred the prince, "are...are paladins supposed to be chaste? Because...that could be a problem..."

"Maybe not," said Syrius. "You might still be a virgin...I don't think screwing sheep counts..."

Arthas cackled with laughter and held out his empty mug. "To the sheep of this land!" he croaked.

"Cheers!" said Syrius, clinking the glass.

The crowd of onlookers tittered with laughter; a few drunken men yelled their agreement and raised their glasses.

The paladin's face had turned bright red; he rubbed the heel of his hand against his forehead. His mouth opened to say something, but instead he pushed through the forming crowd and stormed from the room.

"Okay, then," slurred Arthas as he watched his mentor leave, "screw the sheep." He turned to the crowd. "Ladies and elf-women, I am drunk out of my head, but I think I can still manage a dance or two if anyone is...interested..."

"Then slow, sweet love in the kitchen!" cried Syrius, the sentence punctuated with a low belch.

"Who's first?" yelled Arthas.

"Me!" cried a drunken Sallia as she launched herself into his arms.

 

 

"Ladies and gentlemen, your future king," murmured Deranis dryly. "I have never been so proud to have chosen Lordaeron as my new home country."

"Is Sallia always this much of a lightweight?" asked Loti, amused. "She just had two mugs, and look at her."

Sallia was standing on the dance floor in front of Arthas, wiggling her hips in a dance reminiscent of a child who was first learning to stand. Deranis sighed; she had never been so embarrassed for the woman in her entire life. She and Loti rushed to drag the woman home before she forced herself on the prince.

When they returned to the house, Jaina was sitting at the table, studying by candlelight. She looked up and greeted them absently; her eyes were dreamy with study.

"She never stops," muttered Sallia as she sank to the divan. She lay on her back, smiling dreamily. Deranis and Loti took seats, too.

"How was the rest of the gala?" asked Jaina politely as she slid the book closed, leaving one finger in it to mark her place.  
"I danced with Prince Arthas twice!" slurred Sallia to the ceiling.

"Is she drunk?" asked Jaina, surprised.

"She's blitzed out of her mind," replied the curly-haired woman. "...as was Prince Arthas, so don't listen to her when she goes on about how in love with her he is."

"I just had one mug!" cried the brunette. "Or maybe two. But I'm just...drunk on Prince Arthas." She hummed to herself and began to run her fingers across the fabric of her dress.

"How was your night, Jaina?" asked Loti.

The blonde sighed and flipped her book open, then began to jot down some notes as she ignored the question.

"You left pretty early," persisted Deranis. "Prince Kael was sitting in the corner like a lost puppy. Everything okay?"

"I have to study," said Jaina a bit tersely.

"Prince Arthas danced with me," said Sallia dreamily.

"Stop saying his name already!" snapped Deranis. "You know you'll have forgotten about him within a week." She turned to Jaina and Loti and bade them goodnight: "Sallia's getting on my nerves."

"I'll sleep here," murmured Sallia and she curled into a ball on the divan.

Loti fetched her spell book and sat beside Jaina. The blonde smiled; they began to go over the history of water elementals together. It wasn't until they heard Sallia's snores that Loti leaned forward expectantly, watching Jaina with earnest. The woman laughed.

"I see you're just as nosy as the others," she accused, still smiling.

"You seem troubled," said the elf carefully. "Is everything okay with my prince?'

Jaina sighed; she leaned back in her chair.

"It'll pass," she murmured. "It's just been a bizarre night. Let's get in one more chapter, then get some sleep, okay?" Surely this would all seem ridiculous once she'd rested.

 

 

But sleep did nothing to lessen her confusion.

 

 

Jaina leaned against the cold stone wall, sipping potent elven wine from her goblet; she turned to speak to Kael, expecting to see him on her right, as earlier in the evening. He wasn't there. She blinked.

Someone wrenched the goblet from her hands; it smashed against the ground as rough hands gripped her jaw and a kiss forced her against the wall. Stubble was rough against her face and a tongue probed deeply into her mouth.

The assailant pulled back to stare intently into her eyes, a smirk tugging at the left corner of his lips as it had during his verbal advances earlier in the evening. His broad hands slid down to her rear and he jerked her off the ground; she wrapped her legs tightly around his waist and slung her arms around his neck. Their clothes slid to the grass like water.

"Prince Arthas," she whispered, her voice rough with need, and her hand clawed into the nape of his muscled neck.

He flashed another smirk and leaned to whisper in her ear: "Hang on tightly, Jaina." The voice was half-teasing, half threatening.

Then his fingers tightened against her hips and he drove violently into her flesh.

 

 

Jaina threw the covers from her body, breathing hard. She rolled onto her right side and curled into a ball; sweat dripped down her temples. Her left hand pressed flat against the mattress, then clawed into it. The fabric was soft against her skin. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on the sensation, but the vivid dream refused to relinquish its hold over her attention.

Eventually she became aware that the muscle above her lip twitched violently. She clutched at it with two fingers, horrified. That twitch was for Kael, and no one else. No other man had ever managed to coax it from her before tonight, and there was no damned way that was about to change.

"Kael," she whispered, her eyes squeezed shut, as she tried to recall the elven prince's delicate clawed fingers, his gentle hisses of desire, his arousing new habit of whispering in Elvish during moments when the pleasure overwhelmed him.

Yet still the delicate fiber quivered and jumped beneath her fingertips as the vision of Arthas' forceful kiss spun through her mind.

 

 

 


	4. Book One - III

 

**III**

 

Arthas awoke the next morning to thumping at his door; he sat bolt upright, then clutched at his pounding head.

"What?" he yelled irritably.

"Arthas!" barked Uther. "Get out here right now!"

The prince grumbled under his breath and tried to stand, but failed: something was holding him back. He looked down to see a naked woman clinging to his arm.

The woman looked up at him with wild eyes, terrified by the noise.

"Good morning, Milord," she whispered.

"Oh," said Arthas. "Wonderful." He shook the woman free and stood, then examined his face in the mirror. His chin was studded with stubble, his neck with love bites. His hair was matted and tangled in its braid; his clothes were wrinkled with sleep. A low snore sounded from behind him, and he cursed and whirled around. Sure enough, Syrius was asleep on the floor in the corner of the room, a half-dressed woman in each arm. The prince squinted, trying to remember how the trio had come to be there.

"Arthas!" yelled Uther.

The prince cursed again and quickly edged through the door, slipping it closed before the paladin could see inside.

"Good morning, Uther," he said, his voice gravelly.

The paladin took one look at the prince and raised his fingers to the bridge of his nose. He paced away, his back to his disciple.

"Good afternoon?" tried Arthas.

Uther turned around to face him.

"Get yourself cleaned up," he muttered. "I'll be waiting in your study. And for God's sakes, make sure no one sees her leave your room."

"Her?" asked the prince.

"Don't play dumb with me, boy," replied Uther irritably. "I'm old, but not stupid." He paced away, shaking his head and muttering under his breath.

Arthas swore and barged back into the bedroom; the bang of the door against the wall roused Syrius from his slumber. The lord sat up and looked around, then began to laugh.

"Hey, Arthas, was that a party last night, or what?" He squinted at his friend's stormy face. "What's wrong?"

The prince slammed the door shut and stormed into the room. He leaned down and grabbed Syrius by the collar.

"Uther is going to bloody castrate me!" he growled. "Why the hell did you have to give me any of that cursed ale?"

"You downed it pretty quickly without my prompting, O Blameless One," said Syrius with a yawn. He looked down at the women in his arms. "Wait, I ended up with two? How did that work out? The way that the three of them were all over you at first-"

"I don't want to know!" snapped Arthas. "Get these drunken floozies the hell out of my room!"

"Calm down," said Syrius, irritated; he was beginning to notice his hangover.

Arthas jabbed a finger into the other's ribs.

"You are going to get them dressed and leave here under the pretense that they are your family members and you came to visit me early this morning," he intoned dangerously. "If any man suggests otherwise, slit his throat!"

Syrius sighed and stood. He knew better than to argue with his friend when he was in a rage. He helped the women stand; they began to pull on their clothes as the lord walked over to the woman hiding in the prince's bed sheets. She cast Arthas an imploring look as she pulled on her skirts; the prince ignored her as he dug through his wardrobe for clean clothes.

Once the troupe had departed, Arthas called for his servant to fix his hair and give him a shave. He intended to bathe, too, but opted for perfumes when he realized that he shouldn't keep Uther waiting too long.

"Busy night, Milord?" asked Torina innocently as she dusted the love bites on his neck with powder.

"I'm sure you heard all about it," muttered Arthas. "I will slaughter Syrius for getting them to bring out that ale."

"Don't worry too much, Milord," said the elderly servant. "Everyone was drunk by the time the gala ended; you weren't the only one to make an enormous fool out of yourself." She chuckled. "Though from what I hear, you certainly did an admirable job."

"Hold your tongue, woman," he snapped. He thought he heard a faint giggle from her, but decided to ignore it. The powder brush still slid against his skin; he sighed. "Aren't you finished yet?"

"Yes, Milord." She withdrew the brush. "You'd best hurry. He was ranting something fierce."

Arthas slipped on the clean clothes and buckled his scabbard about his waist, then paced down to the study. Each footstep grew heavier as he fought the urge to flee; he gritted his teeth and hesitated as his gloved hand settled on the doorknob. After a moment to compose himself and put on his best air of confidence, he turned it and strode through.

Uther sat in a chair, his arms folded over his chest. He looked up as the prince entered the dim room.

"Glad you finally decided to show up," he said tonelessly. The prince gritted his teeth and sat in a chair, choking back a bitter retort.

"I don't understand you, Arthas," said Uther sadly. "Here I thought I had finally gotten through to you how important it is for you to present a proper image to your people. You even suggested the gala -- a remarkable diplomatic move. But you get there, and what happens?"

"Uther, I was-"

"You were drunk out of your mind!"

Arthas' eyes narrowed. "Perhaps you noticed that the others-"

"You aren't the others!" snapped Uther. "How long does it take to get that through to you? You are to be king!"

"You aren't going to listen to me, are you?" muttered Arthas, folding his arms over his chest. He slumped back in his seat. The paladin sighed.

"I know I've been hard on you lately, lad," he murmured. "But you can't change your destiny, and when you are destined to be king, you are destined to be on your best possible behaviour in public at all times."

They were silent for a moment. Arthas leaned his head against the stone back of his chair. His head was pounding with the hangover, and all he wanted to do was crawl back into bed.

"You missed both the training session and your swordsmanship class today," said Uther quietly. "I would have less objection to your reckless behaviour if you didn't miss training sessions, but lately..."

"I know, I know." Arthas let out a low sigh and put his elbow on the armrest of the chair, bracing his chin with his hand.

The paladin watched him for a minute. The boy's indifference made up his mind for him, and a humourless smile slid across his face.

"I'm too old to chase after you like this, Arthas," he murmured. "I'm too old to be teaching you extra lessons every time you miss a class, and I don't think that accommodating your absences is the best way to encourage you to attend. And you're too old to need a babysitter. Effective immediately, you're on your own; if you miss a class, you have to catch up yourself. If you screw up, you have to handle the consequences yourself. I'm through with this; I'm not your nanny."

"What?" Arthas' eyes flashed and he sat upright. "You would abandon me?"

"You are my pupil, Arthas, not my son," murmured the man. "Henceforth, you will be treated as such, and nothing more."

"You can't do that!" protested the prince.

"Of course I can," said Uther. He stood. "You'd best get caught up before class tomorrow, or you'll fall even further behind."

Arthas stood, too. "Don't forget that I am your prince, Uther," he warned, taking a step forward.

The paladin, in a rare show of sarcasm, gave a mocking bow. "Then see you in class tomorrow, your Majesty."

"You can't treat me like this!" yelled Arthas. "Uther!"

The door slammed.

The prince stared at the door, stunned. Then he let out a yell and whirled.

A glint of gold caught his eye: the insignia on the front of the Holy Book. It sat on the desk, its clean leather cover staring neatly at him. Mocking him. Just beneath its cover was the key to being a paladin, the precepts and principles that were so elusive to him, that were so completely unattainable for an imperfect being such as himself. It was the ultimate good, the symbol of that which he could never live up to. It was perfect.

Uther thought it was perfect.

Red clouded Arthas' vision as he drew his sword.

The blade sheared cleanly through the book. Steel sank into the thick wood of the desk below. The desk buckled, then collapsed; the loose pages of the destroyed Holy Book fluttered to settle atop the broken wood. Arthas didn't lift the sword after the stroke; his chin dropped and his breath rattled his chest. His fingers turned white against the hilt.

After a moment, he lifted one hand and shoved the hair back from his face, then stormed from the room. The slam of the door made a servant in the hallway jump.

"What are you doing here?" roared the prince.

"I came to see what the noise was, Milord," squeaked the servant. The prince's eyes were wild, the whites showing clear around the irises; the servant swallowed hard, staring at the brandished sword.

"Clean up the mess in my study!" barked the prince, then he turned and left, muttering madly under his breath.

 

 

Uther paced down the hallway, seething. He was under enough stress lately without having to deal with the prince's penchant for misbehaviour. Curse that boy for his selfishness!

He sighed, trying to slow his rage. It wasn't entirely fair to blame the prince. He had been young once, too; he knew what it was like to prefer alcohol and women to study. It was perfectly normal for a man of his age. But still...

"Uther."

The paladin stopped and whirled. Behind him stood the aging King Terenas. The stooped figure looked frail and tiny under the royal regalia, but his eyes still sparkled with vivacity and his jaw was still proud. The anger fled from the paladin's body as he dropped his head in a slight bow.

"Your Majesty," he greeted his friend respectfully. "I expected you would be resting."

The King walked unsteadily up to the paladin. "I hear my boy was up to some mischief last night." He raised a bushy grey eyebrow.

The paladin lifted his head. "He is growing worse lately," he said quietly. "This past month has been especially bad. I fear his anger and self-absorption will consume him entirely."

Terenas put a hand on the man's shoulder. "He reminds me a lot of myself at that age, Uther. He will outgrow it. You'll see." A faint smile tugged at his wrinkled lips. He had indeed gotten up to a great deal of mischief in his youth, and he was certain that he had given his father and mentor more than a few grey hairs.

"Even so, Milord, I think we need to change his training program," murmured Uther. "The other paladins are beginning to complain about his absences. Perhaps he needs a customized class, something to help him learn to control his temper, something to help his motivation."

"Then we will meet and let them hear your counsel," said Terenas firmly. "The day after tomorrow."

"He leaves for his annual vacation at the Cliffs the day after tomorrow," said Uther respectfully.

"Alright, then: tomorrow. I will invite the other senior paladins and we will devise something to help him." The King tilted his head, looking absently at the painting of a countryside on the wall. Uther nodded.

"Very well." He looked up at his king and added with timid concern, "How are you feeling today, Milord?"

"A bit better. The treatments seem to be working," said Terenas. He reached out a hand to touch the painting. It was oil, and the texture was rough beneath his fingertips. After a moment, he turned and said, "I had a priest from Quel'Thalas examine me, as you suggested, and he confirmed your prognosis."

Uther sighed; he had hoped that wouldn't be the case. He stared at the painting, too. It depicted a farm scene that reminded him of his home as a lad; two children played in the back yard amid tall sheaves of grass. It didn't seem so long ago that he and his sister had played games of tag among the wheat. Arthas had never had the chance to play as children do; from a young age, he was groomed for diplomacy, and there was no time for running around wildly. A frown slid across Uther's lips.

"Perhaps it would be best to tell Arthas," he said quietly. The King shook his head in disagreement.

"It would just be more stress for him; he has enough on his plate as it is. We will tell him when the situation is more dire." He raised an eyebrow again. "I've survived this long, Uther. There's no reason I won't live another ten years or more." He patted the paladin on the shoulder. "But perhaps I will take your advice and go rest. Take care."

The paladin watched his friend leave, and let out a long, slow sigh. It wasn't fair to keep the boy in the dark, but he couldn't disobey his king.

 

 

It was about this time that the elven messenger Tancred arrived at the girls' house. He glared at Jaina as she opened the door.

"My prince wants to see you," he snapped.

She raised an eyebrow. "Okay," she said. "Where? When?"

"Now. The inn." The elf muttered directions, then said, "you know, in Quel'Thalas, it's customary to tip the messenger."

"No, it isn't," said Loti over Jaina's shoulder. She said a few harsh words in Elvish that appeared to lead to a short argument. Jaina stepped back, stunned; the door slammed shut.

"Sorry," said Loti. "Have a good time," she added with a smile.

Jaina blinked, confused, then thanked the woman and hurried to her room. She quickly fixed her hair and put on a clean pair of pants and a shirt, then fastened her cloak about her shoulders and rushed to the inn. She was nearly there when she realized she had forgotten her books; she cursed and ran back to fetch them.

The elven prince was waiting patiently when she arrived at his room at the inn, nearly an hour after he had sent for her. The room was enormous: it held a fireplace, a full couch and a kitchen. Kael bowed as she entered and guided her to the dining table. An enormous plate of pastries sat on an expensive china dish, and he poured her a glass of delicately spiced tea. They sat and began to enjoy the food and drink.

After one cup of tea, she opened her book and he took her through some of the theory. He was impressed by the depth of her knowledge. They had covered the entire book by the time a second cup of tea was finished.

"I'm astounded, Jaina," he said, his long eyebrows raising to emphasize the words. "We just covered the syllabus for all three entrance examinations."

"Is that right?" she asked, surprised. "That seems too easy."

"Perhaps you are just too gifted," he replied. He took her hand. "If you like, I could talk to the Archmage-"

"No," she interrupted flatly. "I'm getting in the same way as everyone else."

He raised an eyebrow, but smiled. "I see that you are more proud and stubborn than you appear at first glance."

"Father offered to expedite my acceptance, too," said Jaina with an embarrassed chuckle. "But I don't want people to say that I got in because of who I know. I want to be accepted for my talents."

"I can understand that," said Kael. He stroked her hand with a long, curved thumbnail. "Shall we move to sit by the fireplace?"

She nodded timidly in agreement.

They moved to sit on the couch. Kael bent to light the fire, but she sent a tiny fire bolt to the wood, beating him to it. He looked up, surprised, then laughed and shook his head. His arm draped about her shoulders as he sat next to her. She rested her head on his shoulder.

"Kael," she said, and he hoped she would say something romantic, but she asked, "why doesn't the Kirin Tor practice any fire spells other than the fire bolt?"

"Fire magic is demon magic," said Kael. "It is said to be addictive; some say it claims your soul."

The pads of his fingers touched her narrow chin; they rose to tuck the hair behind her ear, then slid back down to rest against her lips.

"And you have claimed my soul, Jaina," he murmured in a bit of a desperate segue. "I wondered if you might like to finish what we started outside the gala last night."

Her dream reappeared in her mind with startling clarity: Arthas thrust her against the wall, his kiss hot and weighted...

Horrified that her mind would dare betray Kael, she flushed deeply. He smiled, assuming the rouged cheeks were on his account; he traced them with his hands, then bent to kiss her. Her lips parted for him and she heard herself groan as her body began to respond. Kael's tongue was sweet and warm from the tea. His arms snaked around her and clawed fingers dug into her lower back, kneading like cat's paws.

Despite all these sensations, Jaina's mind began to wander back to her dream. Desperate for a neutral subject, she thought about her exams instead: less than twenty-four hours to prepare for the first one, after all; she had to practice. She stared absently at the table where they had eaten a few minutes earlier, and began to go through some of the theory in her mind. He began to kiss her neck; she barely responded.

Kael let out a low sigh and pushed her away. Her eyes dropped to avoid his gaze.

"Forgive me if I'm wrong, Jaina," he whispered, "but you don't seem to be enjoying yourself." He tried to keep his voice neutral, but hurt and embarrassment permeated his words.

She stared at her hands.

"You don't need to worry about the examinations, Jaina," he said carefully. "You will do very well. I'm not just saying that to make you feel better."

When she didn't respond, the elven prince watched her for a moment, then rested his hand on her shoulder. She recoiled from his touch. His face fell and he took it back; her cheeks reddened with shame.

"Why, Jaina?" he whispered.

"I don't know," she replied, her voice cracking, and tears sprang to her eyes.

The prince slid his arms around her shoulder and drew her in for a tight hug. Her damp cheek pressed against his chest; after a moment, she buried her hand in the soft silk of his shirt.

"I long for you, Jaina," he said softly, his voice reverberating through his chest to tickle her ear. "But I don't want to do anything when you are so sad. Perhaps I should escort you home now."

She dropped her chin further and swallowed hard. "I'm so sorry, Kael," she whispered. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

A claw grazed her chin and he gently lifted it.

"We will have all the time in the world to work through this when you get to Dalaran," he said. "I will be patient."

"Kael," she said timidly, "maybe we shouldn't-"

"We will deal with it when you get to Dalaran," he interrupted firmly.

She sighed; he stood.

The elven prince straightened his robes and helped her put on her cloak; they began to walk to her home. The town was remarkably tranquil, probably because most of the populace had consumed too much liquor the night before at the gala. Jaina listened to the gentle scuff of Kael's boots on the cobblestone. His breaths were still sharp, and she wondered guiltily if he was still aroused. This wasn't fair to him at all. She cursed her fickle heart.

Kael's stomach fluttered, and he felt tears prick at his eyes for the first time in many years. The idea of losing Jaina made him ill, so he chose to ignore that possibility. As they neared the town hall, an idea struck him; he turned off the main road. If he couldn't have the chance to please her physically, he could at least please her mentally.

Jaina shot him a quizzical look as they approached the marketplace.

"I just thought of someone I should introduce you to," he said as he led her to a small booth. The cart was laden with staves and wands, and three enormous stacks of books. An elderly man sat beside it; he wore a brown cloak with a hood, and his white beard cascaded down his chest. He stood and smiled as they approached.

"Prince Kael'thas," he said, bowing. "It has been a long time."

"Indeed it has, Brennan," said the elven prince. "This is Lady Jaina Proudmoore; she is studying to enter the Kirin Tor."

"The daughter of Lord Admiral Daelin Proudmoore, I presume?" said Brennan, his eyebrows jutting over his wizened face. "It is an honour to meet you, Milady. I fought alongside your father in the Second War. His is an incredible man."

Jaina blushed and bowed her head in thanks.

"I wonder if you might have the first year curricula," said Kael. "Jaina is an apt pupil, and she has already finished the introductory text on her own."

"Is that so," said the wizard, impressed. He searched through the pile of books and produced a thick, brown leather tome. He squinted at the cover, then held it out to Jaina. "Here it is. Most of it's pretty self-explanatory, but feel free to drop by if you need help with anything."

"Thank you very much," said Jaina, taking the book. "How much do I owe you?"

Kael quickly pulled out his purse and handed it to the mage.

"Kael-" started Jaina.

"It's a gift," interrupted the elven prince. He turned back to the elderly mage, who was counting out the correct amount of gold. "Any word on the mana orbs, Brennan?"

"None yet," said the man. "They do take awhile to tune. I will send word immediately when they arrive." He handed the elf back his change and smiled. They exchanged pleasant farewells, then returned to the main road.

"Kael," said the blonde with a blush, "you didn't have to."

He smiled. "You are like me, Jaina: studying magic brings you great happiness. It is the least I can do for you."

"Thank you," she whispered, pleased. After a moment, she asked, "What are mana orbs?"

"I'll show you when I see you next," he said, smiling enigmatically. He raised an eyebrow. "That reminds me: next time you see Brennan, ask him for a good staff to start with. It will help you with the more difficult spells."

They approached her doorstep. The elven prince's hand cupped her cheek as he drew her in for a slow, gentle kiss. The front of his body brushed against hers, and the warmth of his lips began to arouse her. She cursed herself again for her distraction.

"I'll see you when I'm next in the Capital City," said Kael, his finger grazing her cheekbone. "I expect it shan't be long."

"You're leaving already?" she asked, surprised.

"Tomorrow morning. I have to study too, you know," he said with a smile. "I will send word the moment I arrive in Dalaran." His hand squeezed hers. "Take care, Jaina. I'll think of you every moment we're apart."

She watched him leave, hugging her books to her chest as she tried to sort out her emotions. When he disappeared from view, she opened the door.

Deranis and Sallia jumped guiltily back from the window, then scrambled to join Loti at the table. Jaina sighed, irritated, and closed the door.

"Sorry, Jaina," said Deranis quickly. "We just wondered if-"

"Two dates, and a kiss farewell!" cried Sallia. "It's getting serious, isn't it?"

The blonde blushed and sat on a chair. She began to leaf through her new book.

"Have you slept with him yet?" asked the brunette.

"Only whores sleep with a man so quickly, Sallia," scolded Deranis. Jaina flushed and stood.

"I think I'm going to go start working on dinner," she said quickly.

"I'll help," said Loti, hurrying to stand by her friend.

 

 

In the kitchen, Jaina opened the cold chest and removed a chunk of mutton. The ice in the chest was beginning to melt in the hot summer air; she waved her hand to refreeze it with an ice bolt spell. Loti pulled four potatoes from the sack in the corner of the room and began to peel them.

"Those two are too much sometimes," grumbled Jaina. "I wish they'd butt the hell out of my love life."

"Don't pay attention to them," advised Loti. "They're just jealous because if they were in your shoes, they would already be preparing to marry him to take advantage of his wealth and status."

The woman chuckled softly. "Marry him... Can you imagine me married to a prince?" She shook her head. "All that diplomacy would just cut into my studies."

The elf smiled. "I think Prince Kael is a mage before he is a prince. You would have nothing to worry about."

Even so... Jaina sighed, more loudly than she had intended.

"So your relationship isn't as serious as they imagine, then," said Loti, noting her friend's expression. She began to work on a second potato. Jaina pulled a pan out of the drawer and set the mutton in it, then turned to work on a marinade.

"No, it isn't," said Jaina quietly. "I thought it might have been, but..." She turned to face her friend. "Kael was my first real love. He..." She blushed. "We had a brief liaison when I was sixteen, and he was so kind and gentle with me that any relationships I had afterward paled in comparison. We've kept in contact since then, but hadn't seen each other until the gala."

"And you saw him in person, and he's everything that you remember, but you've changed?" asked Loti softly.

Jaina looked up, surprised. The elf looked away and started working on a third potato.

The blonde blinked back a tear and turned back to the marinade. "He loves me so much, Loti. He's sensual and sexual and kind; he shares my passion for magic, and he's one of the handsomest men I've ever known. He's unbelievably devoted." She swallowed and shook her head. "I want to learn to love him again."

"You can't change who you love and who you don't, Jaina," whispered Loti.

"No," whispered Jaina, "I know. I can't." The sensation of rough stubble on her chin whirled through her mind.

 

 

"Supper is ready, Milord," said Torina delicately. Arthas turned; how had the servant known to find him here?

He had sat in the memorial gardens since his outburst in the study, in the desperate hope that the somber setting would quell his anger. Thus far, it hadn't worked.

"I'm not hungry," he told Torina. "Please tell the others to begin without me."

The servant nodded, but crouched beside her prince.

"Milord," she said, "you've been out here for hours. Are you alright?"

Arthas looked at her with dead eyes, then looked away; he leaned back against the cool wall of his mother's grave. The elderly servant sighed and sat beside him. She turned to absently finger the carved pattern in the stone: six roses, inlayed with white quartz. The engraving had been the Queen's request to Lord Uther before her death; he had been the one with her in the last moments, trying desperately to stop the bleeding...

"You miss her?" asked Torina gently.

"At times like this, yes," murmured Arthas. "I can hardly remember her, and yet I miss her. How trite is that?"

"Not trite at all, Milord," she said. Her knees creaked as she folded her legs to the side. "She was an admirable lady. Beautiful, calm and centred. She was exactly what your Majesty's father needed to ground him and quell his temper."

"I think I need someone to ground me," murmured the prince. "My temper will be the death of me." His eyebrows lowered and he let out a low sigh. "You are so lucky, Torina," he muttered. "You are never angry."

"Am I not?" she asked. He looked up, surprised; she smiled sadly. "People deal with anger in different ways, Milord."

They were silent; the servant watched her gnarled finger as it traced the inscription on the stone. The quartz had chipped in one place. She would have to let the gardener know so he could repair it.

She looked sideways at her master and noticed that his jaw was trembling. He jumped a little as she fondly brushed the hair from his cheek, just as she had done when he was a child.

"Your smile is so like hers, Milord," she said softly. "Slightly off-centre with mischief; dimpling a bit at one side. 'Tis a beautiful smile, but we see it so rarely lately." She cast him a worried, protective gaze. "You should give in to those moments, Milord, where that smile tugs at your lips. Many times I see you force it back out of pride or anger. Maybe that's all you need to do to control your temper: stop being too proud to smile. Allow yourself to revel in your happiness."

He was silent for a moment, then he whispered, "But I have no happiness to revel in," so quietly that she almost didn't hear.

"Of course not," she murmured. "You haven't had time to find any. Between His Majesty and Lord Uther breathing down your neck..." She sighed, then patted him on the shoulder and stood. "I'm sorry, Milord. None of this is my place."

He looked up at her. "It's okay, Torina," he said quietly. "I appreciate your insight."

The servant smiled and bowed her head. "I should get back to the kitchen. I'll tell them to start without you."

As the servant left, Arthas turned to press his cheek to his mother's gravestone. How different things could have been if she hadn't died.

When he was three, the queen had died giving birth to a boy; the infant had joined her a few days later. Arthas' father, stricken with grief, had closed himself off from his living son. To make up for it, Arthas' nanny pampered him and spoiled him in every way she could. By the time she died, when he was just six, he had such a foul temper that it had taken almost two years to find a replacement nanny who agreed to stay with him. But by then, it was too late: his temper was engrained deeply in his personality.

It wasn't until Arthas was nearly fourteen that he had found an outlet for his anger: Muradin had taught him to channel his rage into the sword arts. That had quelled his temper a bit, but soon it began to flare again. He had hoped that training to be a paladin would help him: paladins were quiet, holy men devoted to the Holy Book and a lifetime of fighting all that was evil and healing all that was good. But he had been in the school of the Silver Hand for nearly four years now, and his temper hadn't abated at all.

Arthas sighed and rolled his face so that his forehead pressed against the cool stone. He needed an external source of calm, someone to walk him through his temper tantrums -- someone to "ground" him, as Torina had said, someone to bring him happiness. Uther, normally patient, was good for this, but he was so furious lately that the prince was afraid to talk to him the way he used to. Syrius was a buddy, nothing more, and serious discussions about rage would be awkward.

A smile slid across his face as he recalled Kael's lady friend. He needed someone like her. Someone who wasn't afraid to put him in his place, but who would do so under the tactful guise of teasing. She had, in a few simple sentences, jerked him from his foul mood and put a smile on his lips for the rest of the evening. Even now, thinking about her, his raging pulse began to slow. Perhaps she was his anchor. Perhaps she could help him find happiness.

Footsteps approached, and his anxiety rekindled as he recognized the clang of the buckles on Uther's boots. Arthas gritted his teeth; he slumped against the monument again and bowed his head to hide behind a curtain of gnarled blond hair.

"I came here to be alone, Uther," he muttered irritably.

The paladin sat next to his disciple and folded his legs beneath him as he, too, leaned against the cold stone. The wind was always present in this part of the gardens: if he closed his eyes, it felt exactly like cool breaths on his face... He bowed his head.

He couldn't figure out exactly how to word what he had to say, so he quietly shifted to withdraw something from his robes. It was the spine of the Holy Book that Arthas had destroyed in his rage. Uther set it on the ground in front of them, then leaned back against the headstone.

The prince finally dared to look up; his face twisted when he saw the book.

"I was angry, Uther," he whispered, ashamed, and his head bowed.

"Is something troubling you lately, lad?" asked Uther quietly.

When the prince was silent, his mentor continued, his tone gentle. "I wonder Arthas, if actually want to be a paladin. No one ever took the time to ask you, and with your behaviour lately..." He hesitated, then said, "I get the idea you aren't happy with the path that has been chosen for you."

Shame welled in Arthas' throat at his mentor's kind tone. His chin dropped further and he squeezed his eyes shut.

"I do want to be a paladin, Uther. More than anything. I want to serve the Light and everything holy. It is my own desire and no-one else's. I just..." He pressed his hands to his forehead. His mentor watched him for a moment, then let out a low sigh.

"I'm glad to hear that, lad, because your path to becoming a paladin has just been given an obstacle, and it will take dedication to move beyond it," he said quietly. "Tomorrow, the other senior paladins and I are meeting with your father to discuss your future with the Silver Hand."

"Discuss my-- what?" Arthas' hands dropped, and he looked at his mentor with wide eyes.

"We're going to try to come up with a training program to help you get your behaviour under control." He set his jaw, and added, almost to himself, "there is no way your father and I are going to let the other paladins expel you, so we will have to change your training program to appease everyone."

"Expel me?" exclaimed the prince. Had he really done that much wrong? His stomach tied in knots.

"It's mostly your behaviour in Quel'Thalas," murmured the paladin gently.

"But that was...I mended that," stuttered Arthas. "Didn't I?"

Uther didn't reply. The prince sighed and his head lolled back to rest against the marble. His eyes slid closed as he tried to restrain the anger that was building in his chest. But why should he be angry now? If anything, he should be angry with himself, but this ire was directed outwards, at everyone and everything but him. It seemed that there were no other emotions at his disposal as of late: no regret, no remorse, just all-consuming anger.

"What's happening to me, Uther?" he whispered.

His mentor didn't seem to hear him. He clapped a hand on the prince's shoulder.

"Why don't you take tomorrow off from your studies, Arthas? Captain Scarsdale needs help inspecting the city's defenses. Maybe take Lord Syrius with you." He smiled gently. "I tend to think that this is all stress manifesting itself. A break from the pressures of royal life will do you some good, and then you can enjoy your vacation with an unburdened mind, and come back relaxed and ready to begin your new training program."

"Thanks, Uther," said the prince solemnly. His jaw trembled.

"It'll be okay," said the paladin. "I have faith in you, lad." He patted the prince on the shoulder and stood. "Sleep well."

"Goodnight," replied the prince softly. He stared glumly ahead of him. The paladin's reassurances were hollow. Sleep well? He would be lucky if he slept at all now.

He lay on his side and curled into a ball, hedging back against the grave. His ear pressed to the marble tiles lining the ground. The ground was cold and quiet, and his eyes slid shut as he focussed on the silence.

A heartbeat sounded clearly in his ear, then disappeared. His eyes sprang open, then he snorted and they slid closed again. The mighty warrior, frightened by his own heartbeat. He tried to listen for it again, but no sound met his ears. Odd.

A vision of Kael's lady friend floated before his closed eyes, and he smiled. What was her name? Was she living in the Capital City, or had she come from Dalaran, as Syrius had presumed? How serious was her relationship with the elven prince? He had heard nothing of it, so he presumed it was new. Perhaps she was-

Another heartbeat. Louder and slower, so that he had no chance to think it was his own. Its force vibrated the tile and shuddered through his body.

Arthas sat up. His breath caught in his throat. He frantically scanned the memorial gardens. The graves of his ancestors jutted from the ground, their monuments twisted in the shadowy night.

The wave of cold hit him then. It slammed into his body, seeping down to his bones; the prince shivered. He looked around. The wind was faint, and warm enough; where was this sudden chill coming from?

A groan fled his lips as shudders quaked his body. His arms tightened around himself as he tried to sustain body heat; his eyes squeezed shut. There was nausea now, too, overwhelming. His back pressed into the marble monument behind him. He gagged.

A vision flashed before his eyes: a jutting ice spire, thrust from a deep green ocean. There were murmurings, too faint to hear, guttural and echoing.

"You shall find your happiness," he heard his voice say.

The vision flickered, then it was gone.

Arthas took several deep breaths, then slowly unwrapped his arms from his body and sat up. Sweat rolled down his temples, and he wavered with the remnants of the nausea.

He quickly stood.

"Uther?" he called, but the paladin had long since disappeared from view. Arthas took an uneasy look around him, then turned and began to walk.

It figured that he would fall ill less than two days before his annual vacation. Well, no matter; he would have the priests prepare some medication for him before he left. Another shiver fell through his body, and he wrapped his arms tightly around himself, cursing as he quickened his pace back to the castle.

 

 


	5. Book One - IV

 

 

**IV**

 

At mid-day the next day, the first set of entrance examinations to the Kirin Tor were finally underway at the town hall.

Jaina left the examination hall, her heart light. She smiled at Sallia as they passed in the hallway, and whispered, "good luck." Deranis and Loti were waiting outside.

"Wasn't it difficult, Jaina?" asked Deranis. "I completely forgot about the history of elementals."

"I flubbed the water elemental summoning," murmured Loti. "I forgot to account for the salt levels in the water, and it only lasted two seconds instead of ten."

Jaina didn't know what to say. The examination, to her, had been ridiculously easy, almost insulting. The water elemental was a humanoid body of water that could be summoned to attack enemies. Jaina had been summoning them since she was twelve, and she had already worked hers up to nearly a full minute, but the panel of mages had ordered her to unsummon it after the requisite ten seconds were complete. The history questions had been basic, and no other spells had been requested. She was pleased to know she had done well, but frustrated that she didn't have a chance to demonstrate her true knowledge.

Sallia left the building half an hour later. Her face was red.

"I targetted the spell wrong and summoned a water elemental out of the Archmage's glass instead of the bucket on the floor," she said mournfully. "It loomed over him for a second, then splashed over his face."

The others began to laugh; after a minute, she joined them. "You should have seen the look on his face!"

"Let's go to the market," said Jaina when they had finally stopped laughing. "We all survived the first exam without dying. I think that deserves a congratulatory feast."

"Oh, yes!" said Sallia, clapping her hands together. "Let's have meat pie! And roast lamb!"

They walked into the marketplace and selected a tender cut of lamb, then a slab of beef for the pie. Loti and Jaina picked through the vegetables while Deranis and Sallia selected a few bottles of wine.

They were in good spirits as they walked back to the house; Sallia began to sing a drinking song common to the pubs of Kul Tiras, and, laughing, Deranis and Jaina joined in. Loti forced a smile, feeling again like an outsider. Noticing her discomfort, Jaina turned and began to teach her some of the lyrics. When she had the chorus down, they linked arms and paraded down the street, singing it loudly, much to the amusement of the locals.

Deranis decided to make up her own lyrics. " _The feet go up, the pints go down, as we sing and make merry; Jaina kisses the elven men, but Sallia likes 'em hairy!"_

"Prince Arthas isn't hairy!" protested Sallia.

 _"His brow is broad, his nose is big, his chin is massive and tough; he looks like a Neanderthal, but Sallia likes 'em rough!"_ sang Deranis, yelling the last phrase. Loti started laughing. The curly-haired woman ducked away from Sallia and leaned in to Jaina.

_"Is that a lisp, or an accent? And why is he so girly? Is Prince Kael gay? Well, that's okay! 'Cause Jaina's suspiciously burly!"_

"Hey!" cried the blonde, and she swung one of the bags from the market to clout Deranis' arm. The brown paper began to tear from the strain; she quickly held it to her chest lest it give out entirely.

"Prince Arthas isn't hairy!" insisted Sallia, a little behind.

"Speak of the devil," murmured Loti, and she pointed. On horseback by the gates were Arthas, Syrius and a man wearing a captain's helmet. They were chatting amongst themselves; the captain was making some notes. The women stopped. Sallia's mouth dropped, then she began to run toward the men. The others exchanged looks, then followed. The brunette was already chatting amicably at the men when they reached her.

"Sorry," said Deranis. "We need to keep her on a leash." She smiled and bowed. "Lord Syrius. Your Majesty. You two are looking much more sober than when we last saw you."

Arthas raised an eyebrow and was about to deliver a witty comeback when he noticed Jaina with them. His eyebrows shot up and his mouth dropped as he stared at her. She blushed and bowed her head.

"Oh, that's right!" said Sallia, following the prince's gaze. "You haven't met Jaina yet."

"I believe I have, though not formally." The corner of Arthas' lips rose in a smirk. "So her name is Jaina, is it? I didn't know you were friends with this rowdy bunch, Lady Jaina."

"They are my roommates, Milord," she said, her mouth suddenly dry. She dared a look up at him; he held her gaze until it dropped again.

"You ladies have just been to the market, I presume?" said the captain as he removed his helmet; they recognized him as Captain Scarsdale, a primary officer in the defense systems of the Capital City.

"Oh, yes!" said Sallia. "We're having a feast to celebrate that we made it through the first exam." Her eyes lit up. "You should join us, Milords!"

"Sallia!" hissed Jaina, recovering a bit from Arthas' gaze. Cooking for her friends was one thing, but cooking for a prince? She hadn't done that since she'd left home, and even there, she'd had days in advance to prepare and the help of several kitchen hands.

"We don't want to be any trouble," said Syrius hesitantly.

"No trouble at all!" chirrupped Deranis with surprising enthusiasm. "So long as you don't mind waiting a short while for the meal to be prepared."

"Jaina is the best cook in the lands," boasted Sallia.

The blonde sighed. Perhaps her friends thought her cooking was excellent, but a prince would have discriminating tastes.

Arthas still watched her. "So she can cook, and keep an elven prince satisfied, and still find the time to develop a sharp tongue?" His eyes sparkled. "You must be a busy woman, Lady Jaina."

"And those are only the skills you know of, Milord," she said coyly; she flushed deeply the instant the words left her lips. He smiled, amused again by her mix of shyness and boldness.

The men agreed to dinner; Syrius sent Arthas ahead with the women while he and Scarsdale finished the inspection. Sallia mouthed "thank you," and her cousin winked.

The prince dismounted and led his horse by the reins. The horse's coat was of a brilliant chestnut sheen, and it was several hands taller than any horse Jaina had ever seen. The prince patted it fondly on the neck as they began to walk.

He had intended to pull Jaina aside and speak with her, but Sallia fixed herself to his side. She began to babble about the gala, and he listened, half-interested, as he planned what to say once he had the chance to talk to the blonde.

But as they reached the house, Jaina and Loti hurried into the kitchen. Arthas corralled the horse to a post in front of the house. Sallia rushed inside to find an apple to feed it, and cooed with delight as the animal gently ate it from her hand.

When Arthas finally stepped into the house and looked around, he raised his eyebrows.

"Hardwood floors," he said.

"It isn't much," apologized Sallia as she pushed by him to get the wine glasses.

"On the contrary; I'm impressed," he said, noting the richly woven rug in the centre of the room and the extravagant portraits that dotted the walls.

Deranis snorted, and took his cloak. "Your Majesty surely has a room in the castle that puts this to shame."

"Perhaps, but it is a castle," said the prince as he slipped off his boots and set them neatly against the wall. "It is to be expected there. I have been a guest in many houses in this town, and none are so lavish as this. It puts even my summer home to shame."

"Summer home?" asked Sallia as she led him to the divan and handed him a glass of red wine.

"At Sandstone Cliffs," he said. "I'm actually leaving tomorrow to go there for a couple of weeks, but that's confidential information, of course." He winked.

"Of course," swooned Sallia.

She asked about his duties, and he told her that he and the other men were doing routine checks on the city defenses. He was in the middle of explaining the procedure when another wave of cold crashed over him. His head throbbed, and the nausea made him want to double over. He composed himself and clenched his teeth to hide the chattering. This was the second time today, though fortunately neither of these attacks was accompanied by incomprehensible visions or loud heartbeats. He pulled off his gloves and wiped the clammy sweat from his forehead as he restrained himself from curling into a ball.

"Are you alright, Milord?" asked Sallia, a bit startled that he had trailed off.

"Milady," he said. "I'm a bit grungy after my duties today. I don't supposed you have a washbasin I could use to clean up?"

"There's one in the kitchen, Milord," said Deranis. "Right through that door." She exchanged a worried glance with Sallia as the prince stood.

 

 

In the kitchen, Jaina frantically mixed the dough for the crust as Loti minced the beef.

"I just realized something," muttered the blonde. "We won't have enough crust left over for pie for dessert."

"So we'll have a soup course instead," said the elf as she bent to the washbasin to rinse the blood from her hands. "That way everyone will be too full for a proper dessert, so we can serve a few spiced peaches instead of pie."

"Loti, thank goodness I have you here," said Jaina. "Excellent idea." She rolled the dough into a ball, then rushed to the shelves to grab a jar of home-made soup stock; she always had about a dozen or so on hand for days of heavy study. The broth sloshed into a pot; she bent and sent a bolt of flame to the wood, sparking the stove alight.

"What vegetables should we have in the soup?" asked Loti.

"Beans, carrots, onion, garlic, tomato, potato, and a hint of fresh parsley," said Jaina automatically. "I'll spice the stock if you want to chop them."

She added an assortment of spices to the stock and set it to simmer. She wiped the back of her hand across her forehead, then grabbed a leather cord from a jar on a shelf to take the hair off of her face. Her arms were still raised to fix the leather when Arthas entered the room. His eyes went to her chest, and she flushed as she realized that her movement had drawn the thin fabric of her shirt tightly against her breasts. She dropped her arms and hastily turned to flatten the dough for a pie.

"I'm just here to use the basin; don't mind me," he said, his voice cracking a bit as he wiped the sweat from his forehead.

"I can honestly say I never expected to have a prince in my kitchen," said Jaina conversationally, wondering if she had really just seen him eye her breasts or if she had imagined it.

"No? What about your elven prince?" asked Arthas. The tap spat for a moment and then ran wildly, spraying all over the basin. He cursed and quickly turned the knob to a lower setting, then bent to splash the cool water on his face.

"My elven prince? Why would I want him anywhere in my house aside from the bedroom?" asked Jaina with feigned wonder.

He patted his face dry with the towel. "Surely your romantic life is not confined to the bedroom?" He hung up the rag; his turquoise eyes sparkled. "You don't seem the unimaginative type, Lady Jaina. I envisage your romantic life as being rather exotic."

"In this house?" laughed Jaina. "With Sallia and Deranis around? I'm lucky if they even allow me privacy when I'm in my own bedroom, let alone..." She tilted her head and trailed off as she mulled over his words. "You seem awfully interested in my sex life, Milord," she said.

"This is the seedy, gossip-ridden Capital City, Milady," he replied smoothly. "The only thing that interests us here is sex."

"I can see that." Jaina patted her neck; Arthas mimicked the motion on his own, then winced as he realized some of the powder must have come off with the water. He quickly tugged his hair forward and straightened it to cover the love marks.

"If only they would disappear as quickly as the woman who made them," he said, a bit awkward.

"Not a girlfriend, then?" said Jaina casually, and he shook his head.

"I'm afraid I don't even remember her name." It vaguely occurred to him that this wasn't the best way to show that he could be a considerate lover.

"Understandably," said the blonde with faux solemnity. "I hear you were -- how did Deranis put it -- blitzed out of your mind the night of the gala."

"Indeed I was," he said with exaggerated shame. "I was drowning my sorrows with alcohol and meaningless sex because I was rejected by the maiden who had stolen my heart." He stared solemnly at her, then dropped his gaze as he wondered if he was crossing the line between harmless flirtation and ardent pursuit. Her silence convinced him that he had indeed pushed things too far.

"Perhaps I should get back to the others," he muttered. He ducked through the door.

Jaina stared at the ground. Her cheeks were warm, and she absently raised a hand to pat at them. She turned slowly back to the pie, and saw Loti staring with an open mouth.

"What?" asked the blonde, embarrassed. She began to shape the pie crust. The elf shrugged and began to chop an onion.

"He's a hopeless flirt," added Jaina, trying to shift the blame from herself. "Did you hear the way he was trying to use canned lines on me?" She placed the minced meat into the pie shell and began to work on the lattice for the top. "'The maiden who had stolen my heart.'" She snorted, unconvincingly.

"I was around him a lot at the gala," said the elf quietly, "and I never once saw him flirt so brazenly." She raised an eyebrow to look at her friend; she had never seen the woman flirt, either.

Jaina's hand slipped and she accidentally cut a long diagonal line through her carefully-sliced strips. "Damn," she muttered, rolling the dough into a ball to start again.

 

 

Arthas returned to the living room somewhat somber. The women quickly asked if he was alright, then poured him another glass of wine when he assured them he was fine. He listened, half-heartedly, as Sallia talked a bit about Syrius. Deranis kept humming some tune that he found vaguely familiar; he finally placed it as a drinking song some of the soldiers from Kul Tiras liked to sing. It seemed to be making Sallia uncomfortable.

The captain and Syrius arrived about half an hour later, and Deranis took their cloaks and seated them. They were onto the second bottle of wine when Syrius asked if he should play the clavichord for them.

"Oh, please do!" said Sallia, clapping her hands together. She leaned closer to the prince. "He's an excellent musician."

"I did not know," said Arthas, raising his glass to his lips.

Syrius launched into a waltz. The captain stood and offered his hand to Sallia. She looked up, surprised, then took it; they began to waltz around the room. Arthas watched, a bit relieved to have the talkative woman occupied, and wondered if it would be too forward to drag Jaina from the kitchen for a dance. Perhaps he would have Syrius play a slow song, something romantic, and he would sweep her off her feet and dance her away to make love in her bedroom... His eyes glazed over.

He came back to himself as Deranis put a hand on his shoulder. Syrius was playing a folk song now, and the table had been set.

"Your Majesty," said Deranis, "please sit at the head of the table. We would be honoured."

He thanked her and brought his wine with him to the table. The others were seated; Syrius stayed at the clavichord.

Jaina appeared from the kitchen. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat of the stove, and her hair was tousled in its ponytail. She had an enormous pot of soup in hand; she hummed along with the folk song -- the tune was familiar, even if the words eluded her at the moment -- and sat the pot in the centre of the table.

"Bean and vegetable," she said with a smile. "Please enjoy." She began to walk back to the kitchen.

"Aren't you going to eat with us, Lady Jaina?" asked Arthas casually.

She turned to give a small curtsy. "The food won't cook itself, Milord. I could grace you with my presence, if you wish, but then there would be no meal."

"A small price to pay," he said. Her cheeks reddened and she dropped her gaze, a pleased smile on her face.

"Even so, Milord, I would not have the townsfolk say that I would dare to feed a prince soup and send him away hungry." She raised an eyebrow and looked at him again. "But, fear not, Milord. I will return shortly, bearing more goods to stimulate your appetite."

The prince laughed at her careful choice of words, then watched as she bowed her head and left the room.

Loti turned to Sallia, but the woman was deep in conversation with the Captain and Syrius, who had since joined them at the table. So, she turned to Deranis, who was watching Arthas with a knowing smile on her face. The woman chuckled as the elf tugged at her sleeve.

"I know," she whispered. "I had no idea Jaina was such a flirt. I wonder what's going on?"

Arthas, meanwhile, lifted the spoon to his lips. The broth exploded with flavour the instant it hit his tongue; it was sweet at first, then tasted strongly of beef, and then faded into a delicate blend of vegetables and spices. It was far better than any soup he had ever been served at the castle. He looked up, surprised.

"This is delicious," he said.

"Exquisite," added Syrius.

"Jaina seems to excel at everything she works at, and she's had a lot of practice with cooking," said Loti with uncharacteristic confidence. She smiled at the look of wonder on Arthas' face, then bowed her head and excused herself to go to the kitchen.

 

 

Jaina was already pulling the pie from the oven; she set the lamb inside it and closed the door. Loti slid to a seat.

"Well," said Jaina, "almost done. Just have to stay and marinate the lamb."

"I can do that," said Loti. "You go outside and talk with the others." She raised an eyebrow and added shyly, "there are certain people out there who seem to be craving your company."

Jaina's chin dropped and she flushed. "I think you're reading too much into things, Loti," she murmured.

"Then I apologize," said Loti honestly. "But I do think you deserve to get out of the kitchen."

"I'm a mess!" protested Jaina.

The elf stood and left the room; the woman thought that perhaps she had given up, but she returned a few minutes later with a clean shirt and a hairbrush.

"Now you have no excuse," she said stubbornly.

Jaina laughed. She changed her shirt and quickly brushed out her hair.

"I don't suppose you chose such a revealing shirt on purpose, Loti?" she asked, blushing. It was high, exposing a band of her stomach, and the sheer white silk rested snugly against her breasts. A leather thong at the centre held the fabric together, showing plenty of cleavage. It was a shirt she had been bullied into buying by her friends, and though it was comfortable, she was too shy to wear it in public.

"It isn't revealing. It looks good on you. Now, go!" The elf shooed her from the kitchen.

 

 

Jaina slid into the empty seat by Sallia. From the head of the table, Arthas' eyes flicked to her. His gaze slid down her body, then snapped quickly up to her face as he realized his rudeness; he smiled briefly at her, then returned his gaze to Deranis to acknowledge their conversation.

The blonde turned to her plate and lifted a bite of the pie to her lips. She was a little disappointed with its crust, as she would normally give the dough time to cure to accrue flavour. Still, it was passable even to her discriminating tastes. Her mother had always believed that you could judge the honesty of a diplomat by the quality of food he offered you, so she raised her children to be carefully selective eaters. Jaina was something of a fussy eater because of it.

She didn't say much during the meal. She was exhausted after the long day, and still a bit peeved that the others had dumped this responsibility on her. Since she was good at cooking, the others assumed she enjoyed it. True, she didn't mind it, as it was part of their usual roles: she cooked, Deranis cleaned the house, Loti took care of the yard, and Sallia -- well, Sallia's family had provided the house and most of the furniture, so no-one minded that she didn't do much. So, Jaina looked as cooking as a way of earning her keep. She knew that her friends would always enjoy the food, so it didn't matter if she made mistakes. Impromptu feasts like this were fun, because she got to try new things, and there was no stress to do a good job of it, for the quantity of food would make up for the quality should anything go wrong. But cooking for an audience was a different thing entirely, and more stressful than fun.

Between the worry about the meal, the frustration over the ridiculously easy exam, and her gnawing feelings about Prince Arthas, this day was turning out to be rather irritating.

A knock sounded at the door. She groaned softly.

"That would be for Jaina," said Sallia.

"Excuse me," said the blonde, and she stood. This would be the message that Kael had sent upon his return to Dalaran. She wished he hadn't. She didn't want to deal with her feelings for him, not now, when Arthas was present: it made the guilt over her wandering heart more unbearable.

Jaina greeted the elf at the door.

"Milady," said Tancred, "isn't that Prince Arthas' horse?"

Already, she could see that there was going to be a problem, and that no matter what she said, this news would reach Kael's ears in a distorted fashion. Loti had explained Tancred's vehemence: the high elves were a proud people, and most of them resented the fact that their prince might one day marry a human. While the elves were normally tolerant of mixed-race marriages, the prince was expected to keep his bloodlines pure.

She grabbed the scroll from the messenger's hands without a word. It was damp in one spot; had he spat on it?

"I know that horse," insisted the elf.

"Well, then," she said, "perhaps you recognize that the black horse beside it belongs to Lord Blackbrow. He's a friend of the prince's, and a cousin of Lady Sallia. And if you see fit to tell Prince Kael any of this, you will be certain to tell him the entire thing. No lies, no half-truths. Got it? Good day."

She slammed the door shut, then leaned against it. "Bloody hell," she muttered, forgetting that company was present.

"Uh-oh," said Sallia. "Bad news?"

Jaina kept her eyes to the ground. "Excuse me," she said as she hurried to her bedroom.

Arthas trailed her with his eyes.

"Prince Kael," explained Deranis as she noted his concerned expression. "He corresponds with her frequently."

"How devoted," murmured Arthas dryly. He gritted his teeth. It seemed that the woman's relationship with the elven prince was more serious than he had thought. The thought of her moaning in that blasted elf's grasp made anger well in his stomach. His arms folded over his chest and he slumped a little in his seat. Damn her for bewitching him with her flirtatious nature!

Loti topped up his wine glass; he looked up, surprised to remember where he was.

"Please, Milord," she said softly. "Don't let it trouble you." She wanted to say more, but figured it wasn't her place to meddle, so she smiled and raised her glass in a toast. Arthas drained most of his glass, then stared at the closed door to Jaina's room, his brows heavy.

 

 

Jaina slowly read the scroll. Kael was planning a trip to see her the following week. The news didn't move her at all one way or the other.

She braced her hands on the bureau and looked into the mirror, trying to excite herself by mimicking what Sallia would do in her situation.

"Next week," she whispered, "I will make love to a prince." When nothing happened, she added, "A prince!" and forced an eager smile.

She stared at her reflection for a moment and let out a long, tired sigh, then rolled the scroll and set it aside.

Back in the common room, Loti had brought out the lamb roast; the others were almost through their servings. Jaina slid into her seat.

"The roast looks delicious, Loti," she said, serving herself a piece of the dripping meat.

"So?" said Sallia. "What did he write? 'Jaina darling, I can't wait to feel the warmth of your thighs around my waist as we-'"

"We have guests, Sallia," interjected Deranis.

"No, no, by all means," said Arthas darkly. "I am curious as well."

"Have some more wine," said Syrius quickly, topping up the glass for his friend. He knew that the edge in the man's voice could grow dangerous if he did not distract him.

Jaina began to cut her meat, ignoring the commotion around her. Eventually the others went back to conversation.

Arthas stared at his empty plate. The more he tried not to think about it, the more images of her making love to the elf flooded his mind. The others were too engaged in conversation to notice his mental absence. He was still staring as Jaina finished her meat. She watched the prince for a moment, confused by his rancor. Eventually she worked up the courage to stand and approach him. Her soft hand on his arm startled him; he turned his head to see that she had knelt beside him.

"I noticed you were looking at your plate mournfully, Milord," she said quietly, withdrawing her hand. "Could it be that you are still hungry, and wishing for more food to appear?" Her perfume was light and flowery, and her face was so sweetly earnest that he wanted to lean over and kiss her forehead.

"Well, I was pleasantly full," he said, suddenly cheered, "but it would be sinful to refuse such glorious cooking."

Jaina stood and bent over the table to reach for the lamb. Her hip pressed against his forearm, and the contact was so startling that he jerked his arm away. Immediately he wished he hadn't, but he couldn't force the contact again without seeming forward. He kept his eyes on his plate as she cut another piece and served it to him.

"You don't have to wait for one of us to serve you while you are in this house, Milord," she said delicately. "By all means, take anything you want from us; all you have to do is ask." She didn't realize the double entendre until the words were out of her mouth, and she flushed, mortified.

He looked up at her, amused; his turquoise eyes crackled.

"Anything I want?" he asked softly. His eyes trailed to her lips. "I might have a request or two," he whispered, loudly enough for only her to hear.

The plate of lamb grew unbearably heavy in Jaina's hands; she fumbled with it before setting it on the table. He still watched her, his eyebrows peaking a little in the centre. Though her mouth was narrow, her lips were soft and full. Her tongue darted out to wet them; it was shockingly pink and tapered. She was so close; he would just have to reach out a hand and grasp her chin...

"I have to go fetch dessert," she said quickly. She ducked her head and slipped away.

 

 

A few minutes later, she returned with the spiced peaches, which were heartily consumed. Everyone concluded that the meal had been fantastic. Deranis cleared the table and set out some chairs around the common area, and they relaxed, chatting in small groups.

Arthas was talking with Captain Scarsdale and Sallia when he excused himself to pull up a chair next to Jaina and Loti. The elf smiled and moved away, deliberately leaving the two alone. Jaina stared at the floor, carefully avoiding the prince's intense gaze.

"I hope my brash talk hasn't offended you," said Arthas solemnly. "You seem troubled."

"I'm sorry, Milord," she said. "It is nothing personal. I rather enjoy..." She blushed and stopped herself. "It has been a trying day; I apologize if I seem irritable."

"Then I apologize for imposing," he said. "Please, take some gold to pay for this meal." He began to pull out his coin purse; she stopped him, pressing a hand to his arm.

"I do not want your gold, Milord," she said with a nervous giggle as she hastily withdrew her hand. His arm was lightly covered with blond hair, and so rigidly muscled that she had felt ridged fibres beneath her fingertips. It made sense that he had such toned arms, she reflected, as he was known for his swordsmanship.

Arthas shifted closer to her; their legs were almost touching, and she longed to close the gap.

"By the way," he said, "I don't believe we were properly introduced. You know my name, but I don't know yours, Lady Jaina."

"Proudmoore, Milord," she said.

His eyes widened: he knew the name well. A fond smile overtook his face. "Then you must be the daughter of Lord Admiral Daelin Proudmoore. We are well met, Lady Jaina."

"Milord?" she asked, confused.

"You had the rattiest little doll," he said, leaning closer to her. "I despised the stupid little thing. You insisted that we play house: I was to be your husband, and the doll, our child."

"Oh, no!" she said, her eyes widening. "Charlotte! Then you're that spoiled little beast who buried her in the garden!" She had loved the doll; it was an old stuffed sock with a crudely drawn ink face and a knitted scarf wrapped around it. She couldn't recall who had made it for her, but she favoured it despite the fact that it paled in comparison to the extravagant dolls with porcelain faces her mother and father bought for her. A vague memory surfaced of a freckled red-head laughing evilly as he dumped dirt on the doll while she stood crying in the background.

"Charlotte; that was her name," said Arthas. She scrutinized his face. The red hair had turned blond, and the freckles had faded -- save for a smattering on his nose -- but now she recognized the one-sided smirk and twinkling eyes.

He continued. "I have vague memories of sawing her head off with my dagger and putting it on a stake as a grave marker after I'd buried the rest of her."

"I was heartbroken for weeks!" Jaina tried to look insulted, but she couldn't suppress a laugh. "You were terrible!"  
"Indeed, I was." The girl had been in tears when they left Kul Tiras the next day, and his father had refused to bring his son on another diplomatic mission until he was well into his teens. Arthas flashed a brilliant white grin. "You'll be glad to know I got a sound thrashing from Uther."

"I daresay you deserved it!" she said, admonishing, but she chuckled. "Then, yes: well met, Prince Arthas."

"Please, no formalities," he said. "I would not deny a childhood friend the right to call me by my personal name." His voice had dropped in pitch, and she leaned closer to hear him properly.

"Friend!" she snorted.

"A poor choice of words," said Arthas. "Well, then perhaps we can take the time now to develop the friendship that failed to flourish as children? You seem an admirable maiden, and I would enjoy getting to know you further." His heart pounded in his chest as he waited for her response. A look of guilt crossed her face; his stomach dropped and he looked away.

"Of course," he muttered. "I forgot about your elven prince."

Jaina's head bowed. Why was she being forced to make this decision so soon? But still...it was too late. Her mind was already made up.

She lifted her chin, and the muscle in her upper lip began to jump as his eyes locked with hers.

"Do not concern yourself with Prince Kael, Arthas," she said, shyly using his name; the word felt good in her mouth. "I think..." She blushed, searching for a way to say it, but she was unable to.

The prince watched intently, then, certain he had understood correctly, gave a broad smile.

"I'll send word for you once I return from the Cliffs." His eyes flicked briefly to her roommates, and he leaned closer; his hand rested gently on her thigh before he realized what he was doing.

"I'll send for you anonymously, of course." Her thigh was warm beneath his hand, and he decided that as rude as the contact was, he wasn't about to withdraw it.

"That's probably for the best," she said quietly. "They are kind women, but..." She trailed off. Her legs ached to shift so that his hand would slide closer to her groin; the muscle in her lip trembled. Their eyes locked. His turquoise irises were flecked with green and blue shards, like cracks in ice. She stared into their depths, mesmerized. Arthas' lips parted; he gingerly edged his thumb across her thigh in a tiny caress. She shuddered slightly, still holding his gaze, and inched her leg closer to his.

Suddenly, Captain Scarsdale stood. "Thanks for the wonderful time, fair maidens, but I'm afraid it is nearly nine o'clock, and we were due back at the castle at seven-thirty."

Arthas' head snapped up and he removed his hand from Jaina's leg.

"Nine?" he asked, then he swore under his breath. Uther was waiting for him to discuss the results of the meeting with the paladins and the King.

Arthas stood and turned to Jaina as the others were engaged in farewells. She stood as well; her cheeks were still flushed, and he could hear a faint harshness to her breath

"Jaina," he whispered, "I..." He trailed off, then said hoarsely, "until next time."

His eyes were so filled with longing that her knees began to buckle beneath her. She tried to respond, but her voice caught in her throat. He yearned to stroke her cheek with his hand, to grip her chin and draw her in for a kiss... Realizing he was staring, he quickly turned and bade farewell to the others, then left with the men.

 

 

"Captain Scarsdale is so bloody hot!" shrieked Sallia, oblivious to the fact that he was probably still within earshot.

"Jaina," said Deranis, surprised. "What the hell was that?"

"Hmm?" Jaina looked slowly at her friend, then blinked as she realized she had been daydreaming.

"Playing innocent? Okay, let's start with that look he gave you right before he left," said the other, smug. "It was the look a guy gives you as he's about to undress you for the first time."

"As he's about to-- What?" demanded Jaina, annoyed that Deranis would relegate a beautiful shared moment into horniness.

"It's okay, Jaina," said Loti quietly. "I think Deranis just drank too much wine."

"Yes, it's okay," parrotted the woman, her curls bouncing about her face as she shook with laughter. "No one cares if you date one handsome prince and have a crush on another." The whole thing was amusing to her. Jaina had always been uninterested in men; it was strange to see her flirt.

"What?" cried Sallia, coming out of her daze.

"You didn't notice?" said Deranis, her green eyes sparkling. "' _Oh, Prince Arthas, take anything you want from me; all you have to do is ask!'"_ She parodied a giggle.

"I was talking about food!" snapped the blonde.

"No way!" cried Sallia. "You can't have all the princes to yourself, Jaina! Share the wealth."

"And I bet you think no one noticed his hand on your thigh," added Deranis, and the laughter that was building in her stomach burst out.

"I'm going to bed," muttered Jaina. "Goodnight."

The door of her room slammed behind her.

"You didn't have to do that," muttered Loti as she left the room.

"Well, I think it's funny," murmured Sallia, smiling a little. "Innocent little Jaina, caught in a love triangle." She eyed the remaining wine. "Shall we finish this up, Deranis?"

 

 

Jaina sat at her desk and lit the lamp. She intended to study, but her gaze drifted to the scroll that Kael had sent earlier that day. Her mind replayed the look on Arthas' face -- the one Deranis had caught -- and she gritted her teeth. The look was arousing and overwhelming, and there was no doubt in her mind that he had cultivated it over years of practice seducing women. The thought infuriated her; was he trying to win her over so that he could flaunt it over Kael?

But what if the look hadn't been contrived; what if it was pure, raw honesty? What if...

She drew out a sheet of paper and began to write without quite realizing what she was doing

_Kael,_

_It is with a heavy hand that I write this message. My heart has grown to love another. I wish this weren't the case, but I cannot change it. I hope that this will not spoil our friendship, as you have grown to be an important part of my life._

_Jaina_

She sealed it before she could change her mind and set it next to her books, ready to be delivered the next day.

 

 

At the castle, the lord, the captain and the prince approached the stables.

"I'll leave you here," said Syrius. He reached over to squeeze Arthas' arm. "Good luck," he whispered. Then he turned his horse to leave.

Uther waited outside of the stables. His arms were folded over his chest, and his brows were low. Arthas winced.

"I'm sorry for keeping you waiting, Uther," he said quickly, sounding less sincere than he felt.

"Prince Arthas," said Uther tersely, "I'll be in your study; you can find me there at your earliest convenience." He bowed and headed back to the castle.

"Damnit," muttered the prince. The paladin was never this formal.

He went immediately to the study. Uther was seated in a chair; the lines on his face were more pronounced than usual, and he looked tired and worn. He stood as Arthas entered, but didn't bow.

"Sit down, Arthas," he said quietly.

The prince sat.

"You are nearly two hours late," said Uther slowly. "How ironic: we're going to discuss your punishment for your recent misdeeds, and you're late for this discussion because you're out committing further misdeeds!"

"Misdeeds?" said Arthas. "No, Uther; I-"

"Just because you are the prince does not give you the right to go about cavorting when you have prior commitments!" snapped Uther. "If anything-"

"Cavorting?' Arthas stood. "We were doing rounds to check the defensive systems, when-"

"Don't lie to me, boy; I can smell the alcohol on your breath!" boomed Uther.

"That's because-"

"Sit down!" The paladin's eyes flashed, cold and terrible. Arthas gritted his teeth and sat. The paladin began to pace, then stopped as he got his emotions in check.

"You will only speak when asked to until this meeting is over," he said quietly. "You have no idea how close you came to being expelled from the Hand at the meeting tonight, and it's still a viable possibility; understand?"

"Yes, Uther," murmured Arthas.

The paladin stood tall, bracing himself to say what had to be said.

"Arthas," he said, quiet and solemn, "in light of your many grievances against the precepts of the Silver Hand-"

"Many?" said the prince.

"You will speak only when spoken to," reminded Uther sharply.

"There have only been one or two incidents," growled the prince. "You will not-"

"One or two?" Uther's voice rose again. "I caught you trying to kill Prince Kael'thas, Arthas. I heard you discussing bestiality in public in a drunken haze! I saw the Holy Book that you sliced to shreds. We won't even get into the number of mornings you've missed classes because you were lying with various women the night before -- sometimes more than one at a time. Sometimes with another man present! And what's worse, you have showed no repentance or remorse for these sins! It's as if you think it's your God-given right to do these things!" He was yelling now. "The only thing that your title gives you the God-given right to do is serve your people and meet their expectations as a just and fair king. You can't go about succumbing to your rage or your lust, because you are being judged more harshly than anyone else in this kingdom: every single living, breathing, sentient creature in this land has their eyes on you!" The paladin's face was red; veins bulged from his forehead.

Arthas bowed his head to hide his grating teeth. Uther sighed and sat in the seat across from the prince. He leaned forward, his arms on his knees.

"There has been some talk among the Order," he said quietly. "It's worse than we thought. The others are beginning to question whether it was wise to let one so young into the Silver Hand. After they heard what happened with Prince Kael, they want you expelled. Everyone. Even your juniors."

"What?" asked Arthas incredulously. Anger kindled in his stomach, and he began to shiver.

"This is what I mean, lad. You are being watched more critically than anyone else because of your succession to the throne, and if you screw up, everyone is going to notice, and you are going to suffer disproportionate consequences." Uther bowed his head.

Arthas' grip tightened on the handles of the chair, and he stood.

"Those bastards!" he cried. "Don't they see how hard I work? Don't they see my talent? They dare judge me because I'm to be king? They think I got in through nepotism, and I'm too spoiled to develop proper discipline, don't they?"

Uther lifted his head, weary. "Sit down, Arthas."

"They dare expect me to fail!" Arthas' hand went to the hilt of his sword. "They dare disrespect me behind my back! I'll show them all how lazy and weak I really am!"

"Arthas, sit down!" barked Uther.

The prince's cheeks were flushed, and sweat rolled down his temples.

"I deserve to be a part of the Order!" he roared. He drew his sword. "I swear to the Light I'll cut down anyone who says otherwise!"

Uther's hand flew out and he said a quick incantation. The force hurled the sword out of the prince's hand; he staggered backwards, blinking as he came out of his fury.

"The first way to stop people from calling you a damned spoiled prince is to stop acting like one!" snapped Uther. "Sit down and listen when I am talking to you!"

The prince crouched over his sword and fought the urge to gag. His vision swam and it took two grabs to find the hilt. He examined the blade; he saw two of them. He blinked, then slid it shakily into his sheath.

"Sit down," said Uther again. He sighed and rubbed at his temples. "I don't understand you, Arthas," he muttered under his breath.

The prince sat, humiliated. He rubbed at his chest; the magic's blow had bruised him. He wondered what spell Uther had used.

His teeth chattered with the cold.

"When you return from the Cliffs," said the paladin after a moment, "you will be temporarily removed from the Order. I am putting you in charge of training the new recruits for awhile." He silenced Arthas' protest. "We can only become humble by recognizing our own shortcomings, and teaching is the best way to learn the limits of our knowledge and patience, and as you've just demonstrated, humility is what you sorely lack."

"This is absurd, and you know it," muttered the prince. "I should be leading warriors in battle, not teenaged boys in readings." He rubbed his arms with his hands, trying to keep warm. His vision was still blurry.

The paladin stood. He rested a heavy hand on Arthas' shoulder.

"The other paladins think you'll drop out within a day. Wouldn't proving them wrong be so much more satisfying than slaughtering them all?"

"This is a test, then," grumbled Arthas.

"Yes, it is. I know you will prove yourself worthy." He sighed, hoping his faith wasn't misplaced. "Have a good trip tomorrow, Arthas. I will see you in two weeks."

"Wait," said the prince. "Can't you...can't you talk them out of this? Can't you tell them that I'm too skilled to-"

"It was my idea," said Uther quietly.

The prince's eyes closed and his head dropped. "It's good to know you have confidence in my abilities, Uther," he muttered bitterly through chattering teeth.

"I do, lad. And that's why I think you'll learn from this new arrangement." He smiled sadly. "Rest well during your trip. I'll slide the page numbers for the readings under your door tonight."

The door closed behind him.

Arthas suddenly hunched over and gripped his sides, spasming with the cold. It fed off his anger, growing and consuming his body until it howled in his ears like the wind of a blizzard. He fell to the floor and rolled onto his back, groaning. He was vaguely aware of sweat beading on his skin, but he couldn't control his muscles well enough to wipe the moisture away.

At last he managed to regain control of his arms; he fished in his pockets for the lozenges one of the priests had prepared for him early that morning. They were foul things that tasted of ginger and beetroot -- he had taken one in the morning and avoided them since -- and he hated to erase the delicate taste that Jaina's cooking had left in his mouth, but this spasm was overwhelming. He slid the lozenge in between the chattering teeth and pressed it to the roof of his mouth. After a few moments, the cold left his body, and his muscles relaxed.

He lay on his back, his eyes closed, his arms and legs splayed, and took several deep breaths.

He wanted to mull over his anger at the paladins -- curse them all for their impudence! -- but instead, he thought of Jaina. Her crystalline blue eyes. The delicate spices of her perfume. The faint blush that coloured her cheeks as she brashly flirted with him. The softness and warmth of her thigh beneath his hand. He recalled how her breath had sped up slightly as he touched her, how it had grown more audible; he longed to make it more audible still. What would it sound like when he kissed her neck? Her thighs? Would she moan and whimper, or would she be silent save for harsh, ragged gasps? Would she claw at his skin and beg him to enter, or would she be submissive and wait for his bidding?

And now, when he opened his eyes, his anger had faded entirely. Now he saw that he had acted irrationally, that Uther was right in his actions. It wouldn't be fun, and it was a blow to his pride, but the experience of teaching recruits would surely benefit him.

A smile slid across his lips: so Torina was correct. The key to handling his anger was allowing himself to be happy. He had found happiness, and he was going to pursue it in every way that he could.

But first, he was going to crawl into bed. The nausea was flaring again; perhaps rest would help his health before his travels.

 

 


	6. Book One - V

**V**

 

The next afternoon, Kael's messenger arrived at the girls' house. Jaina opened the door, confused, to see Tancred holding out a scroll.

"I was supposed to deliver this last night," he said with a smirk as he held out a scroll. "Oops."

"But you already gave me a scroll last night," said Jaina, surprised.

"He sent two; I was supposed to deliver them both at once." Tancred shrugged.

Jaina's eyes narrowed. She thrust her scroll into the elf's hands.

"I'm refusing his message. Send this to him at once. It's important that he gets it as soon as possible." Her hands trembled slightly.

Tancred smiled gleefully at her forlorn expression. "So you're finally leaving him then?"

"Just do it!" snapped the woman, then she slammed the door in his face. She sank against the door, her eyes closed, and took a deep, shuddering breath as she tried to keep the welling tears at bay.

"Jaina?" Loti approached her friend carefully. "Are you okay?"

The woman's face crumpled and tears ran down her cheeks. "Loti," she whispered. "I thought no-one else was home."

The elf gently grabbed her arm and led her to the divan. She took a clean handkerchief out of the pocket of her hunting cloak and gave it to Jaina, then strode to the cupboard to fetch a bottle of wine and two glasses. She filled one and brought it to the woman, who took a grateful sip. Loti sat beside her.

"Prince Kael?" she asked gently.

Jaina sniffled and dabbed at her cheeks. "I just sent him a message breaking it off." She paused to take a sip of the wine then spoke again, calmer. "I despise my fickle heart."

The elf leaned back against the divan and held her wine glass to the light to examine the contents. Then she swirled it and lowered it to her lips, draining it in one dainty sip. She set the glass on the table and refilled it. Jaina watched absently; Loti drank wine like Kael. Perhaps it was an elven habit; she reflected that she really knew very little about elven customs.

"Might Prince Arthas have anything to do with this decision?" asked Loti quietly as she examined her full glass. Jaina rubbed the bridge of her nose with her index fingers.

"I don't want to fall in love with another prince, Loti. I'm sick of the world knowing about my love life, and I never -- never -- want to be a queen."

The elf solemnly regarded her friend. "And yet..."

"I know." Jaina sighed and dropped her hands to her lap. "I know," she said, softer this time. She ran her hands through her hair. "These are going to be the longest two weeks of my life."

 

 

Less than an hour at the Cliffs, and Arthas was already wishing he had asked someone to come along. Jaina, or Syrius, or even Uther.

The servants here were skittish around him. Most of them were either contracted for repairs, or resided here for the entire year, and hence rarely saw their prince. He would have liked to have brought Torina with him -- the old gal was good for a talk now and then, and would spur the other servants into chatting with him -- but she always stayed in the Capital City so that she could be near her family.

Only one of the new servants had been brave enough to greet him. Her name was Molly; she was a pretty young thing, probably about eighteen, with deep brown hair and pleasant features. Had he not had the image of Miss Proudmoore burned deeply into his mind, he would certainly have pursued her. Few of the servants had objections to sharing their master's quarters; in fact, his introduction to the earthly pleasures had occurred in the hands of a servant-girl, who had seduced him during the lonely years of his early teens. He wondered what had ever happened to her. She had been sent away once Torina figured out what was going on; the memory made him chuckle.

Arthas sighed and dangled his legs over the edge of the cliff. The ocean below was sparkling, green and enticing. What would happen if he leapt from the edge? Would he die, or just be terribly injured? He dropped a rock over the edge, and counted until it hit the water. Thirty metres; was that far enough to kill him?

What would Jaina's reaction be if he died? He imagined her in a black cloak, half a dozen white roses gripped in her hands as she knelt before his gravestone. Would she miss him? For how long? Would she weep? He tried to picture her tears, but no image formed; he couldn't imagine her crying. Perhaps, one day, he would know her well enough to know her tear-stained face.

_Perhaps soon._

His hands gripped the rock and he leaned over; his head swam with vertigo and he began to shiver.

"Milord! Don't!"

Arthas sat up and turned. The servant Molly lingered near him, concerned. She bowed her head at his confused expression.

"I'm sorry, Milord," she said. "I thought you might..." She trailed off. He blinked, disoriented, then stood and brushed the dust from his pants.

"Milord," she said, "are you alright? You're flushed something awful."

"I'm fine, thank you, Molly," he said, a bit more curtly than he had intended. He softened his tone for his next words: "Is there any word on lunch? I am a bit hungry."

"I'll inform the kitchen, Milord," she said; she bowed and scurried away.

Lunch was ready shortly; he ate the food in silence, a bit unnerved by the empty room. There was always someone to dine with back home. The meal was delicious, but a cold spell crashed over him when he was not halfway through; when it disappeared, it took his appetite with it.

After he pushed his meal around the plate for awhile, he wandered around for a few minutes, bored. The house was tiny -- only one room plus a kitchen -- and the silence, though usually welcomed, was beginning to grate on his nerves. He began to wish he could enter the servant's quarters; the sounds of laughter sounded from within, and it seemed far more entertaining than these drab lodgings. Presumably they were dining, too.

The prince finally decided to practice his swordsmanship in the yard. He intended to remain at the top of his classes when he returned to the Capital City, and he would have to practice to do so. His sword slid freely from the scabbard. It was a simple blade of tempered steel, with a single blood channel and a gold hilt. It had been a gift from his father for his sixteenth birthday. The prince put a notch on the hilt with his knife for every skirmish he participated in, and there were more than a dozen already. Uther was trying to train him to use the mallet traditional to the paladins, but he still preferred the sword, as it made for a cleaner, quicker kill.

Arthas thrust the sword at an imaginary opponent's chest; he spun to slice at the knees, then sent a lop at head level. This was the combination he had used on Kael; he reflected now that he was lucky he had misjudged the last stroke, for a decapitated head would have been impossible to heal.

Muradin, his swordsmanship mentor, despised the spin. "You're going to get an axe across the back while you're wasting time with that flashy stuff," he'd always say, the words thick with his Dwarven brogue. Arthas stubbornly adored flashiness; if nothing else, it was good for intimidating would-be attackers.

He repeated the combination twenty-four more times, then moved onto another. Sweat began to drip from his forehead, and his stomach began to churn.

 

 

It was several hours before anyone noticed that he was training unusually hard.

"Milord!"  
Arthas let out a yell and thrust his sword at an imaginary attacker.

"Milord!" called Molly again.

He stopped and looked up at her. His eyes were wide, the whites showing all the way around the irises; his teeth were bared as he grunted for breath, and his yellow hair was plastered to his face. Sweat rolled from the tip of his nose.

The servant girl timidly took a few steps forward and held out a pitcher of water. Three slices of lemon floated in the clear, cold liquid.

"You need to rest, Milord," she murmured as he took the pitcher; his Adam's apple bobbed as he thirstily downed the water. He finished the entire jug in seconds and handed it back to her. Heat radiated from his skin, even though he was two feet away.

"Milord," she said, "you aren't well."

"I need to practice," he murmured through chattering teeth; he stopped and stared over her shoulder. She looked behind her, confused; there was nothing there. When she turned back around, he was training once again.

Molly ran back to the servant's quarters.

"Is he still out there?" asked the cook.

"Yes," said Molly quietly. "The sun is setting, and still he shows no signs of slowing. Should we send for Lord Uther?"

The cook chuckled and patted the girl on the shoulder. "You just aren't used to the Prince's obsessive spells." She looked out the window and shook her head, clucking her tongue. "He's too pigheaded for his own good. But don't worry, lass; he'll grow tired and rest soon enough."

"I suppose," whispered Molly as she watched the prince with worried eyes.

 

 

By the next morning, even the cook recognized that something was wrong: the prince hadn't slept or eaten. His cheeks were gaunt, his skin pasty. His movements were erratic now; his knees seemed to give out every few steps, and he was wavering like a drunk as he went through his exercises.

"This isn't right at all. I'll send for Lord Uther," said the cook as she rang for the scribe. "You try to get him to drink something, Molly."

"Yes, ma'am," said the servant girl. She filled a pitcher of water and dutifully added lemon slices, then paced out to the prince. She stopped about ten feet from him and swallowed hard, then thrust the water before her.

"Milord," she said, loudly. She tried twice more. He didn't respond.

"Prince Arthas," she said, louder.

He stopped and looked at her. His eyes were beginning to roll back into his head. He let out a yell and lunged at her, his sword aloft.

"You will respect my talents, bastard!" he snarled. "I am your prince! I'll have them gut you and string you by your lungs!"

She stood, petrified; his leg gave way and he fell to one knee before his sword could reach her. The servant girl dropped the pitcher and backed away, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Arthas grunted and braced his sword by the tip in the earth, pushing himself to a stand, then recommenced his irregular training patterns. Molly watched for another moment, horrified, then fled.

A few moments later a burly servant stormed from the house and toward the prince.

"Prince Arthas!" he barked.

The prince whirled, growling. The servant man shook a fist.

"You can't talk to my Molly that way!"

Arthas' eyes flashed. He drew his knife and advanced, both weapons brandished. He side-stepped around the servant; the portly man swallowed and removed his hat, fingering it nervously.

"Milord," he said, "your treatment of my family has always been excellent. I wondered why now you would suddenly turn on my daughter-"

"To hell with you bastard trolls! You will all pay!" snarled Arthas, then he wavered and fell to the ground. The sword skittered across the grass, coming to a rest at the servant's feet.

 

 

Arthas smelled the damp grass beneath him, and musky earth. There was a great, relieved happiness: now there would finally be rest. He felt his eyelids flutter; the motion swirled in his mind until he didn't know anymore what was causing it.

Then he opened his eyes. He lay on his back; Jaina leaned over him. A dark cowl was drawn over her face. He could only see her small mouth and narrow chin. A tear drop hovered at its tip, and he smiled, because he knew it was for him; at last, she was crying for him.

"Arthas," she whispered. "I thought you were dead." Another tear dripped to her chin, joining with the first, but they did not drop.  
He was in a coffin. She had a small bouquet of pink roses.

"Pink?" he said. "That isn't right at all." There were six, yes, but he had specifically wanted white.

"Patience," she said. "It takes time for them to fade." She lay them on his chest in a fan, one at a time, and the colour faded from them the instant they touched his skin.

Then she cupped her hands beneath her chin, and he realized she was gathering her tears. They flowed faster, streaming into the cupped hands, then she brought them over his chest and dropped them. The warmth singed his cold, clammy skin, and he threw back his head and gasped as his chest broke down into char.

Then she was straddling him, naked; she murmured, "you're so cold." He shivered hard; she clung to his body so he wouldn't throw her off with his shudders. Heat flowed from her centre through his veins, and he thrust into her, desperate for life-sustaining warmth.

Her face dropped and she took his chin deep into her mouth, biting hard. He shrieked; she bit deeper. The bones cracked beneath her clenched teeth. Her fingernails dug into the flesh of his chest and the muscles began to tear. He screamed.

He

Then she pulled back and smiled; blood dripped from her mouth. She brought one of the roses to his face and used it to tickle his nose.

"I will bring you the happiness you seek," she sneered, blood spraying from her lips onto his face and the white silken petals of the flower.

Then she vanished, and there was only darkness and searing cold.

 

 

A knock at the door jolted Jaina from her daydream. She and her roommates were studying at the table in the common room; they had insisted on going over the fundamentals of the ice bolt, and while she normally enjoyed teaching them, she was unable to focus as she anticipated Kael's response. The door was a welcome relief.

Sallia ran for the door and opened it. She emitted a series of phony pleasant murmurs.

"It's Prince Kael," said Loti, whose elven ears could hear the conversation in detail. "He's asking for you, Jaina."

He'd come to talk to her in person? The blonde stood and excused herself, her heart pounding.

Kael stood at the door, his arms folded over his chest; his glowing eyes were narrow, and the sneer on his lips was malicious this time. One corner twitched when he saw her, revealing a snarl of white teeth. His canine teeth were pointed like fangs; she'd never noticed before.

"Get your boots on," he hissed. Terrified, she pulled on her boots and grabbed her cloak, tying it at her throat. He strode through the door without holding it for her, and it nearly slammed in her face.

Kael mounted his horse and cocked his head behind him in an unspoken demand. She complied and sat, then rested her hands gingerly on his hips.

The elven prince took them out of town, silent the entire way. He sat bolt upright, every muscle in his body tense, and he projected an aura of such vehemence that she wondered if she should flee the instant the horse slowed. She had expected him to be upset, but not angry. He never seemed the sort to get angry.

Eventually they pulled down a long dirt driveway. The small cabin at the end of it was empty. Jaina wondered briefly how he had come upon it -- was it owned by him? A friend? Or just a random house he had chanced upon?

Kael leapt gracefully from the horse and walked in through the door without looking back. She hesitated, then stepped down into the stirrup and leapt to the ground. She had barely closed the door behind her when he held out the letter, glaring at her with accusing eyes.

"Who is he?" he snarled, slapping the paper with his free hand.

Jaina sighed and sat on a wooden chair. "Kael..."

"Who?" he insisted. The blue was beginning to fade from his eyes as they glowed white. His upper lip curled into a vicious snarl, and she subconsciously shrank away.

"Why does it matter?" she asked, frustrated and terrified.

Kael shoved his free hand through his wheaten hair. He sat in a chair, too, and, too tired to keep up his anger, rested his forehead in his hand.

"It matters because whoever he is, he has taken from me the thing that I love most in the world," he whispered. "The only thing that gives my life meaning."

His shoulders began to shudder. The sight was so pathetic that Jaina edged her chair closer to him. She put a hand on his knee in comfort; he knocked it away and held out his hand in defense.

"Don't, Jaina," he snapped. "This is...this is hard enough without having to feel the warmth of your hand...without smelling the fragrances that waft from your body..." The hand curled into a fist, then he withdrew it. A tear ran down his high cheekbone and dripped from the narrow chin. Jaina dropped her head, ashamed; she searched her mind for a rational explanation for her actions.

"Kael," she said eventually, her voice breaking, "I've changed too much. I was so young when we met..."

"I don't care if you've changed!" he cried. "I still love you. I will always..." He sighed and rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand, then smiled, a bit wryly. "I haven't wept in years," he muttered. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. She watched with sad eyes until he spoke again.

"How old were you?" he asked without looking up.

"What?" she asked, confused.

"When we made love on the riverbanks," he whispered. His glowing white eyes focussed on her.

"A month past sixteen," she replied softly. "Just a child."

He let out an ironic snort of air and shook his head. "Just a child," he echoed, and his face twisted as he muttered an angry phrase in Elvish. His hands laced through his flaxen hair; he bent forward.

"Kael," she insisted. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I honestly care for you, but-"

The prince interrupted. "My messenger tells me that he saw Prince Arthas' horse at your house two days ago." He couldn't bring himself to look at her.

"I knew this would happen!" said Jaina, furious. She leaned forward earnestly. "Yes, Prince Arthas was in my house. So were Lord Syrius Blackbrow and Captain Jeremy Scarsdale. Syrius is Sallia's cousin, and he and Arthas are great friends. And if that sorry messenger of yours says anything different-"

"Arthas?" repeated Kael bitterly, and his eyes flashed as he lifted his head. "I didn't know you two were on a first-name basis." He didn't wait for her reply. "There are also rumours that you and Arthas exchanged flirtations outside the gala during my absence."

"Kael-"

"You must understand how deep the hatred between he and I runs! If he were to take you from me-"

"Do you honestly think that I am so empty that someone could steal me away against my will?" she interrupted, irritated.

The elven prince bowed his head. Another tear dripped down his chin; he swabbed at his eyes with his hand, shaking his head slowly as he considered how to reply.

"No," he murmured softly, "but I think you are so innocent and trusting that you could be led astray by a cretin like him." He lifted his head. "I worry what he will do to you, Jaina. He is a dangerous man."

"Kael," she whispered, "nothing has happened with Arthas or anyone else. I have fallen for someone, yes, but nothing has happened. All that I know now is I am not able to love you as anything more than a friend." She carefully moved to sit beside him and rubbed his back; a tear leaked from her eye.

"I hope you speak the truth, Jaina," he said solemnly. "If he touches you..." He trailed off, his teeth bared.

"He won't," she murmured, panicking a little.

They sat silently, each avoiding one another's gaze. After a moment, Kael swallowed hard and brought his hand to his forehead.

"If you ever -- ever -- change your mind, Jaina," he said hoarsely, "I will be waiting for you."

"Don't, Kael," she whispered, dropping her chin. "You'll be wasting your time."

"I have no choice," he said, so quietly that it took a moment to figure out what he'd said. His hand dropped from his forehead; he pressed his back against the chair and sat regally before her.

"I will discontinue correspondence with you, Jaina," he said. "At least until I've had time to get used to...this."

"I understand," she said, and another tear spilled down her cheek. He lifted his chin and looked past her.

"I can't bear to be in your presence anymore. Ride my horse back and set her loose when you reach your home. She, at least, will find her way back to me." His jaw quaked.

"Kael," she said softly. "I'm so sorry."

He turned his head. "Go," he muttered.

She complied.

 

 

Jaina clutched at the magnificent beast's neck. Tears slid down her cheeks as she thought of the elf's tenderness, his devotion, his passion. Had she really the right to turn that away?

She tried to stop the tears, but they continued to flow, and by the time she returned to the house, she couldn't see straight through them. The horse bolted back the way they had come the instant she let go of the reins: even it couldn't bear to be in her presence. Jaina shakily put her hand to the doorknob.

From the other side of the door, the sound of forlorn sobs met her ears. Curiosity and worry overcame her own sadness as she swung the door open.

Her three roommates sat on the divan. Sallia's shoulders were heaving; loud cries poured from her mouth. Beside her sat Deranis, with damp cheeks; she rubbed her friend's back. Loti sat on the weeping woman's other side. Her eyes were dry, but her narrow face was grim.

Jaina took a step into the room; they noticed her tear-stained face.

"So you've heard, then," whispered Deranis.

Jaina didn't bother to take off her boots as she padded into the common room. _Something's happened to Syrius,_ she thought, her heart pounding.

"What's...what's going on?" she asked.

"Prince Arthas," sobbed Sallia, and she buried her face in her hands again, too choked to continue.

The colour drained from Jaina's face and she sank to her knees.

"He's deathly ill," said Loti quietly. "They've sent for Lord Uther, but they don't think..."

"No," whispered the blonde.

"He went mad, then collapsed," continued the elf delicately. "The fever keeps rising, and they can't slow it. No one's supposed to know; we only heard because Syrius is going up to the Cliffs in the morning to see him one last...." She trailed off.

"No," whispered Jaina again. She shifted back and gathered her knees to her chest, resting her chin on them. A tear trickled down her cheek.

"You should go to him, Jaina," said Deranis quietly. Jaina's head snapped up.

"Deranis," she murmured, "I told you-"

"Fine, fine. So you really don't care for him as much as I thought. Whatever; I don't care. The point is that he's obviously interested in you." Deranis' brows lowered solemnly and she wiped away a tear. "Maybe he'll respond to your voice and fight against the illness. You could save him, Jaina."

The blonde dropped her chin. "I'd miss the second set of exams," she murmured. "I can't go."

"What's more important?" said Deranis angrily. "Your exams, or the life of your prince?" The others stared; they had never seen her so passionate.

"What if I go and I end up catching the illness?" snapped Jaina defensively. "What if I die?"

"You are so bloody selfish!" yelled Deranis.

"I can't help him!" cried the blonde. She turned and ran from the house.

"Deranis," whispered Sallia, resting a hand on her friend's shoulder.

"Leave me alone!" screamed the woman as she knocked her friend's hand away and buried her face in her knees.

 

 

Jaina found herself at Brennan's stand a few minutes later. The elderly man stood as she approached.

"Miss Proudmoore?" he asked. "Are you okay?"

She stood before the stall and lifted her chin; her irises seemed to glow blue against the bloodshot whites.

"If I infuse a wand with an ice spell, with you oversee it to make sure I did it right?" she asked, her voice cracking.

"Yes, of course," he said, a bit confused. He kept only uncharged staves and wands at his stall, lest a charged artifact fall into the wrong hands. He decided it was best not question the woman's intentions; if Kael trusted her, he certainly could, too.

She purchased a wand and grasped it in her hands, focussing. The wand glowed blue as the spell poured into it, then faded. She opened her eyes, a bit breathless, and handed it to him. He weighed it in his hand, sensing its aura.

"Very well done, Miss Proudmoore," he said, impressed. "But how did you learn to infuse a wand?"

"It was in the text Prince Kael'thas bought for me," she said, a bit surprised. He raised an eyebrow.

"Then I must have sold you the third year book by mistake, not the first year."

"Then I will come back for the correct one another time." She smiled sadly. "I must leave now. Thank you, Brennan."

The mage bade her farewell, watching with concern as she walked away.

Jaina clutched the wand tightly in her fist.

No, she couldn't go to Arthas' side. For one thing, she probably wouldn't be allowed to see him; for another, she had meant what she'd said: if she got ill, or missed the exams, she would never forgive herself for sacrificing her dreams for a man she barely knew. As fond as she was of the prince, she had only met him twice; her love of magic had been eternal.

But she would help the best she could without leaving home.

 

 

Late that night, she stole to Syrius' house and knocked on the door. A servant, looking tired and worn, answered.

"Can I help you?" he asked, disinterested.

Jaina kept her head low to make sure her face was hidden from view beneath her hood, and handed him the package.

"Please, could you make sure that Syrius takes this to Lord Uther tomorrow when he leaves for the Cliffs?"

The servant's eyes widened. "How did you-"

"Please," she insisted. "It will help the prince."

The servant sighed and took the package from her.

"You'd best be moving along," he said, and he slammed the door in her face.

Jaina turned, praying to whatever gods would listen that her gift would be of some use.

 

 

The wand would, indeed, be a welcome gift.

As noon approached the next day, Uther helped the servants deposit the prince in the cold bath. It was a futile process; the water warmed too quickly, before it could bring the fever down. They had been trying throughout the night, but the fever was only worsening. Whatever the illness was, it was ravaging the man's body. The two paladins he had brought with him prepared salves and medicines continuously, but the salves were sweated off in minutes, and the medicines never stayed down. Still, they continued to prepare more, praying that one of them might actually work.

The prince's body hit the water with a splash. He sat up, shrieking, and several of the servants fell backwards as they were hit by his strong, flailing arms. The prince said something unintelligible, then sagged backwards, slipping under the water.

"Damnit! Pull him out!" yelled Uther, running for the tub. One of the stronger servants grabbed the prince by the hair and pulled his head above the water. Uther knelt by the prince and checked for breath. It was shallow and quick, but still present. He breathed a quick sigh of relief, then summoned the paladin Jorn to take Arthas' temperature.

"Forty-two point two centigrade," murmured Jorn after a moment. Higher than it had been thus far. They had to hurry; at this temperature, his internal organs could suffer major damage.

"Come on," murmured Uther under his breath. "Drop..." He dipped a hand into the water; it was nearly room temperature already.

Ten minutes later, Jorn took the temperature again.

"Still forty-two point two," he said softly.

Uther let out a loud curse; the other paladins shrank away, stunned by his outburst.

"We need ice!" yelled Uther. "Why can't we get any goddamned ice? Where the hell are the King's mages?" He had only brought the other paladins, originally, as the servants had led them to believe that this was a normal fever. Upon his arrival late the night before he had realized that this illness would need all the healing power they could muster. The message for help should have arrived in the King's hands a long time ago.

"They should be here by this afternoon, Brother," said Jorn quietly.

"By then, the prince will be dead! Does the King have no will for his only son to live? He should be sticking them on griffons and branding the damned things on the ass to get them here as soon as possible!" The paladin's breaths shuddered between his clenched teeth.

"Brother Uther," said the paladin Gavinrad, putting a hand on Uther's shoulder, "perhaps you should rest."

"I'll rest when the fever breaks or he dies -- no sooner!" barked Uther. "Fetch the salves. We're trying this again!"

He bent to grab the prince under the arms and dragged him from the tub, moving him back to the bed a few feet away. The prince was shivering; Uther spread his hands on the blotchy chest and concentrated, sending healing energy through the body. Unfortunately, paladin skills were useful on battle wounds, but not so useful on fevers. Though Arthas improved temporarily with each infusion, he fell just as ill as before a few moments later. Uther knew he couldn't keep up this futile cycle forever, but it was all he could do.

He finished the spell and stood, cupping his hand to the boy's cheek. Arthas' eyelids fluttered. His flesh burned Uther's hand.

"How is he, Lord Uther?" asked a timid voice behind him. The paladin turned to see Syrius; that was right, he had sent for him before he left. He had never been fond of the boy, but he was an able-bodied man who could be useful in their mission to save the prince.

Now Uther saw the sincere worry on the man's face and felt a stroke of pity for him. He sighed and gave a weak smile to soften the news.

"Not well, I'm afraid," he said quietly.

"Is he going to make it?" asked Syrius, his voice cracking.

"What's that in your hand?" asked Uther, trying to distract the other.

"Oh, this!" Syrius thrust out Jaina's package and bowed his head. "This was dropped off at my house last night. Someone insisted you get it."

Uther accepted the package thoughtfully.

"Is there anything I can do?" asked Syrius quickly. Uther didn't hesitate.

"Help the servants empty the tub, then go grab a bucket and start getting water from the stream. The colder, the better." The other nodded and darted off.

The paladin untied the string holding the package together and lifted the lid. Inside was a jar of a brown liquid, a stick, and a note. He held it out far enough so that his aging eyes could read it.

_Dear Lord Uther,_

_I have charged this wand with an ice spell. I hope it will help Prince Arthas. The broth is nutritious and will help nurse him back to health. Good luck to you both._

The note fell from his hand and fluttered to the ground. Uther looked at the wand, his eyes wide.

He whirled to point to a burly servant.

"You!" he yelled. "Grab some friends and fetch the largest kegs you can find! Bring them here and set them up on the lawn."

The man didn't question the order; he ran to find helpers.

Uther strode out to the lawn. The servants and Syrius had formed a human chain and were passing buckets between them to fill the tub.

"Change of plans!" boomed Uther. "The men will be bringing up kegs. Fill them with water instead!"

Two burly servant-men appeared, grunting beneath the strain of a full keg. They unstopped it, emptying the fine ale into the grass.

"Set it over there," ordered Uther, pointing to an area of the lawn near the open doors to the room where Arthas lay.

He returned to the prince's side and tried his healing magic again. Jorn and Gavinrad returned with herbal mixtures to slather on the man's body.

"What is this new plan, Brother Uther?" asked Jorn quietly.

The senior paladin held out the wand. Jorn and Gavinrad looked at it, their eyes wide.

"It's an ice wand," said their senior. "We're going to bring down the fever."

"That's sorcery, Brother," said Gavinrad softly.

"I know how to wield it," said Uther stubbornly. "And I will. Continue preparing medication. The prince will not die today!"

 

 

It was almost twenty minutes before three kegs were full. The paladin ordered the men to find as many axes as they could. He stood before the barrels and brandished the wand, aiming it at the centre-most keg. His eyes closed and his eyebrows pinched as he concentrated.

A stream of magic poured from the wand, glowing a brilliant blue. The stream doused each of the kegs, one at a time; the wood structures cracked and burst as the water expanded into ice.

Uther put the wand into the pocket of his robes and grabbed an axe to splinter the wood. He and four others hacked chunks of ice off the frozen masses; the servants transported the ice to the tub with buckets.

When the tub was a quarter full, Uther handed his axe to Syrius and strode for Arthas. He cradled the man in his arms, grunting a bit beneath his weight. The prince's skin was slicked with sweat, and his sunken chest wrenched with each shallow breath. Uther knelt by the tub. He murmured a quick prayer for the boy and laid him carefully across the ice.

The result was instantaneous: Arthas jerked upright, his feverish eyes wide open with horror as he let out a bloodcurdling shriek. Uther grunted, using all of his weight to pin the man down.

"Keep filling the tub!" he barked to the servants, who were staring at the prince with horror. The servants obeyed and continue to bring the ice, burying the body until only the screaming head was exposed.

Uther's hand, buried under the ice with Arthas, began to go numb; he feared that he would lose all feeling and be unable to hold the man down. Arthas was still shrieking, his eyes rolling back into his forehead.

The paladin grunted as he slid another hand into the ice to press against the prince's chest. Gavinrad and Jorn began to apply salves to Arthas' exposed face. Uther cocked his head in the direction of the servants who were gathering, watching the terrifying scene.

"Get them out of here," he hissed. Gavinrad stood to shoo them away.

Arthas' yelling gradually faded into whimpers, and he stopped struggling. Uther lifted his hands from the icy mass and rested them on his thighs. One had turned completely white, and the other was numb, too, but he'd deal with them later.

Jorn produced a thermometer and placed it in the prince's mouth, holding it shut. It clattered against the chattering teeth.

"Forty-one," he said, surprised.

"Good," said Uther.

"We should take him out now," said Jorn. "He is at risk of frostbite." The prince's lips were blue.

"Not until it's below forty," said Uther. "We will not move him until he is out of danger!" Forty was still three degrees too high, but low enough that he wouldn't suffer any permanent damage...

Ten minutes later, Jorn took the temperature again. "Forty point five," he said. "Surely, Lord Uther-"

"No," interrupted his senior. "Not until it's below forty."

Arthas' skin was white and he was shaking horribly. Jorn watched anxiously, certain that the cold would kill him. He took the temperature again several minutes later, praying it had dropped.

"Thirty-nine point eight," he said happily.

"Take him out!" ordered Uther, his hands too numb to do it himself. The paladins lifted the prince and lay him on the bed. Jorn clapped Uther on the shoulder.

"Now you should rest, Brother," he said.

"Later," said Uther as he bent to perform the healing spell on the prince's blue fingers and toes.

 

 

The young woman hummed to herself as she stoked the fire, then hung the laundry to dry around the fireplace. It had been hanging outside until a moment ago, when the storm had suddenly struck. Fortunately she had gotten most of it inside before the rain drenched it, but it was still damp from the washing.

She paused once the last sheet had been hung and tucked a strand of her silky brown hair into the handkerchief tied around her head. Then she wiped her hands on her apron and turned to set the kettle on the stove.

A knock sounded at the door; she looked up, surprised, then walked across the room to open it.

There stood Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider, his brilliant red robes darkened by the rain. His hair was slicked and coppery with water, and his normally erect ears drooped a little under the weight of the raindrops. His eyes glowed a deep, mournful blue, and his mouth sagged. He didn't even take a step towards her, but stood there, his shoulders slumped.

"Kalnaka," he whispered.

"Kael!" she cried. "Goodness, come out of the rain!" She took his hand, wary of the carefully manicured claws, and led him inside, shutting the door behind him. He sighed and stared at the floor, where the rain water pooled around his shiny red boots.

"I'll get you a towel," said Kalnaka. She returned to the fireplace to take down the least damp towel and paused to light the coals that fuelled the sunken bathtub. He held out his hands and accepted the cloth, but made no move to dry himself. Kalnaka sighed and took back the towel, dabbing gingerly at the prince's forehead. His breath smelled strongly of gin; she had never known him to drink anything but wine.

"She rejected you, didn't she?" said the young woman gently. "Jaina." His sad eyes locked onto her.

"How did you know?" he whispered.

Kalnaka smiled sadly. "Your frown is so deep that it's tugging down your ears." She dabbed along either side of the aforementioned body parts. Kael closed his eyes and let out a long sigh as she dried his face.

After a moment, she withdrew the cloth and placed a slow, gentle kiss to his nose.

"A nice warm bath," she murmured. "A good meal, and a long talk. Does that sound good?"

Kael nodded miserably. The woman's slender hands came to his throat to undo the clasp of his hood.

She settled him in the bath, then undressed and climbed in beside him. Her soft hands lathered the soap, then used it to wash his arms, his chest, his face and his neck. She lifted his arms and soaped beneath his armpits and back to his shoulder blades; she lingered there for a bit, massaging. Kael's head slumped and he let out a soft, pleased hiss. Her fingers began to work at the knots she found there, and he turned his back toward her to allow her full range. Her touch was firm but gentle, and he closed his eyes and allowed himself to enjoy the sensations. At one point, he murmured his appreciation in Elvish; the fact that he had forgotten completely where he was and what language he was supposed to be speaking pleased her immensely. She lived to help him forget.

Finally, she lathered the soap in his hair, massaging it to the tips. His hair was longer than when she had last seen it; the strands were uneven, but the longest reached his lower back. She had always been jealous of his angelic wheaten hair, being cursed with mouse brown hair herself. Kael acted fond of it, but she knew he really preferred blondes. Or one blonde, more specifically.

He ducked under the water to rinse the soap from his hair, then surfaced, sputtering for a moment. She handed him the bar, and he began to lather her body now. He lingered at the breasts, as always, running around the full globes with his palms. His light touch never failed to surprise her. Kael was such an intense person that one would expect him to be a passionate, desperate lover, but he was so inhumanly gentle that he gave the impression of being a river spirit or an apparition rather than a flesh-and-blood elf.

He was working at her hair now with the bar of soap, but his other hand had dropped to rest between her thighs. The back of a claw slid delicately against the soft flesh of her groin as he bent to kiss the twitch of her upper lip. He had a fixation with that twitch; she had never quite understood. Presumably, it was a trait she shared with Jaina. Whatever the reason, she didn't mind; she'd always been self-conscious of the tic. It was nice to have it worshipped.

He took the lip gently between his teeth and ran his tongue along it, then tilted his head to give her a deep kiss. The hand in her hair tightened; she moaned and dropped her hand to grip him firmly between the legs.

Eventually, she pulled away and slid beneath the water's surface to rinse the soap from her hair. She didn't surface right away. Kael groaned as a tongue rasped along his shaft, and tight lips wrapped around him. His head dropped back to rest against the floor. She held her breath for as long as she could, pleasuring him, but finally was forced to surface. The elven prince's eyes were closed, a small smile on his face.

Kalnaka stood to lay a fluffy white towel along the floor beside the bath. She reached down a hand and led him out of the tub.

Her depths smelled delicious. So much like Jaina. His tongue delved into the warm, slick flesh, and he wondered if Jaina shared this heavenly taste, too. His climax began to approach; he gripped her legs tightly, burying his face between them. The fingers inside her slid deeper -- carefully, to avoid hurting her with his claws -- and she began to tense around him. The shrieks of her orgasm vibrated around his member, pulling him over the edge with her; he cried her name into her thighs as she eagerly swallowed his juices.

Their tongues continued their wanderings for several moments after their shared climax, each revelling in the other's taste. Eventually he pulled away; he curled up beside her and rested his chin on her shoulder, draping his arm across her body. She smoothed his forearm with her hand.

"Should I go make some tea?" she whispered. "Or perhaps get the pipe?"

A smile slid along his lips and he murmured something in Elvish. She shot him a curious look.

"A man could fall in love with you, Kalnaka," he translated, his words slurring slightly.

"Don't you dare." She kissed his forehead, then rested her cheek against it, closing her eyes. "That would ruin everything." After a moment she detached herself from his arms and stood.

"Besides," she added, "you're just rebounding. Your feelings will settle down soon enough."

"How can they?" he murmured, beginning to shiver a bit with the cold draught on the floor. His robes weren't dry yet, so he decided to slide back into the warm bathtub. "After five years, Kalnaka," he added, "how am I supposed to forget her?"

"She'll come around." Kalnaka poured two cups of tea and grabbed the pipe and a pouch of tobacco; she slid back into the water, too, placing her goods on the floor beside them.

"In all my years," he murmured, "I have never come across someone who's caught my fancy like she has."

"Oh, don't pull that 'in all my years' crap," said Kalnaka with a hint of a smile. "You're still a baby by elven standards." She took a sip of her tea, then set it down and began to stuff tobacco leaves into the pipe's bowl. "She's had lovers before, right? So have you."

"This is different." Kael sighed. "We finally had the chance to reunite, and she rejected me completely." His brows lowered. "She's left me for another man."

"Then she's a fool." Kalnaka finished packing the bowl; she lit it and took a deep draught of the smoke. "Do you know who he is?"

"I have my suspicions." The elven prince's brows lowered. "I hope he's rotting in hell as we speak," he added with surprising vehemence. She stared, shocked to hear such ugly words from the gentle man.

"Kael!" she said.

The elven prince clutched at his head. "I have not been myself, Kalnaka. I apologize." He thought about telling her about the strange tremours and visions that had been plaguing him lately, but decided against it. He was unloading enough on her as it was.

"If you want, I could go talk to her for you," said Kalnaka. "Set her straight."

"No." Kael accepted the pipe and took a breath of the smoke; he coughed a bit as he handed it back. "You can't talk to her. Your father would-"

"It has occurred to me that if I kick up a bit of a fuss, the man might actually give me the money he promised my mother long ago." The woman blew a smoke ring, then grinned. "You know, Kael, I'm nearly twenty-five, and he promised a thousand gold each year. He paid the first year only, which means he owes twenty-four thousand gold. Perhaps putting a little pressure on him by letting him know I spoke with Jaina would hurry the process. Besides, it's about time I meet this woman I've heard so much about."

"Don't," said Kael. "I don't want to get dragged into it."

"Too late." The woman smiled Jaina's smile at him, then coughed. "Sorry," she said. "I think I let the leaves steep too long."

He wasn't sure if she meant the tea or the tobacco -- both seemed fine to him -- but he didn't question it. Another trait Kalnaka shared with Jaina was their insane perfectionism.

She suddenly blew a smoke ring at him, then grinned. Normally he loved to tease her in return -- he would steal the pipe from her and threaten to drop it in the water, and she would laugh with glee because she knew she was the only one who could make him shed his usual serious air. Now, his head dropped and a tear trickled from his eye.

"Don't look so sad, Kael," she murmured.

"I was supposed to be visiting her right now," he whispered. "I was going to take her for a walk in the wilderness and lay her down on a grassy bank and make love to her as I did long ago."

Kalnaka's hand ran across his shoulder and she kissed the long, sharp nose. How she'd come to love that nose: slender and jutting, regal and graceful. She'd come to love the coolness of its tip as it pressed against her cheek, her thigh-

She blocked the thoughts before they could continue. Their relationship was friendship with benefits, nothing more. It was dangerous for a woman of her position to fall in love with a prince.

His arms snaked around her and he held her close. He murmured in Elvish again.

"What was that?" she asked.

"Hmm?" His throat rumbled against her shoulder, and she realized he was more drunk than she had first believed.

"You just said something in Elvish," she said patiently.

He pulled back and ran his knuckle along her chin, his eyes glowing just faintly now. "I was reflecting that it's odd: I know you far better than I know her. You are perhaps my dearest friend, and yet..." He sighed softly. "I was wondering aloud why I love her, when you are right here in front of me."

She wasn't sure what to say.

"I wish I could make you happy," she said finally.

He hugged her tightly to his chest. "I wish I could be happy," he whispered into her warm, damp hair. "For you."

As always, he was gone when Kalnaka awoke the next morning. She never understood how he managed to be so quiet; she was an unusually light sleeper. Sometimes, she really did think he was an apparition.

 

 

When Arthas finally awoke a few days later, he was wearing a clean gown and his hair was tied neatly back from his face. Uther was asleep in the chair beside the bed. Arthas tried to sit up, but his stomach lurched and his brain slammed against his skull. He lay back, uncomfortably aware of the thin layer of sweat across the clammy skin of his cheeks. He tried to speak, but his throat was too parched.

The servant Molly walked into the room. She put a hand on Uther's shoulder.

"Milord," she whispered. "Dinner is ready."

Uther did not stir; his breaths were deep and even. Molly smiled, then turned to leave the room.

Arthas managed a faint croak. Molly heard it; her eyes lit up as she saw him, and she clapped her hands together and sank into a low curtsy.

"Milord!" she cried. "I am so glad you are awake! We all thought..." She turned to Uther and shook him. "Lord Uther! Lord Uther! He is awake!"

The paladin blinked, confused, then leapt to his feet when he saw what the commotion was about.

"Arthas!" he cried. A smile spread across his face, then he fell forward and buried his face in the prince's chest; a loud sob erupted from his lips. Arthas looked down, confused. He had rarely seen his mentor cry, and never this freely.

Molly left the room, closing the door behind her as she ran to tell the others the good news.

Uther lifted his head and wiped the tears from his face, then grasped Arthas' hand in his own and kissed the back of it.

"I'm sorry for this outburst, lad," he said, somewhat sheepish through his tears. "We thought we were going to lose you. Light be praised!" He kissed the prince's hand again, then stood and wiped at his face. "Alright," he said, composing himself, "you must be thirsty. Let's get you something to drink."

 

 

The worst was not over yet. The prince was unable to keep even the tiniest amount of liquids down, and they thought they would lose him to dehydration.

Uther worked with the priests -- who had finally arrived -- throughout the night creating different herbal concoctions. Finally, early in the morning, the prince was able to hold down a sip of a mint mixture. After this, his stomach healed so quickly that he was asking for solid food within hours.

After sampling it to make sure it was okay, Uther poured a mug of the broth that had been sent in the package. The liquid had barely hit the prince's lips when he sat upright.

"Jaina!" he cried, still a bit disoriented. He turned to Uther. "Jaina?"

"Jaina?" repeated Uther, confused.

"I..." Arthas sank back to his pillow. "Nothing, Uther," he said. He smiled absently and drained the mug.

The paladin watched the prince, amazed by the transformation that had overcome the man's face. His eyes were bright, his lips curved on the left side into a grin, and the lines that normally creased his forehead had disappeared. The prince looked up and raised his eyebrows.

"Is something wrong, Uther?" he asked pleasantly, his voice still a bit hoarse with illness.

"You knew a Jaina once before," said the paladin with a smile. "Do you remember?"

Arthas shifted the pillow behind his back and took another long sip of the broth. It wasn't often that the paladin chose to reminisce. "Please tell me," he said.

"The daughter of Lord Admiral Proudmoore," said Uther. He chuckled and shook his head. "You fell head over heels for that girl."

"Head over heels?" Arthas looked into the mug in his hands, swirling the contents. "I only seem to remember butchering her doll," he said wryly.

"You were only five or six at the time, lad; you were trying to impress her the only way you knew how," said Uther. "You set your eyes on her and wouldn't rest until you had her full attention." He chuckled again. "You threw a terrible fit when we were leaving and bit one of the Lord Admiral's servants when we refused your demands to give Jaina to you as a gift. You said you'd never rest until she was yours."

Something resembling a flush tickled Arthas' cheeks and he bowed his head with a shy smile. Uther watched.

"So am I to take it that this Jaina you asked for..."

"...is the one and the same," finished the prince. "She is in the Capital City now, studying to be accepted into the Kirin Tor." He smiled bashfully at his mentor. "I suppose I'm trying to take up the cup I abandoned so many years ago."

Uther smiled, amused by the boy's shyness.

"Miss Proudmoore must have some powerful friends," he said, and he explained about the anonymous package that had saved Arthas' life.

"You don't think she infused the wand herself?" asked the prince.

"I doubt it," said Uther respectfully. "Wand infusion is one of the more difficult techniques. It's a difficult balance: the spell must be dormant enough to lay in a wand until called upon, but if it's too dormant, it won't respond."

The prince wondered briefly if Jaina had asked Kael to infuse the wand for her. His face darkened a bit.

"At any rate," said Uther, patting the prince on the leg, "I should go get some rest. Please pass on my sincerest thanks to Miss Proudmoore. If it weren't for her quick thinking, you might not be here today."

"Then I suppose I owe her my life," said Arthas, and his face softened again. "Uther?" he said as the paladin reached the door. "You won't repeat any of this anywhere, will you?" The elusive blush tickled his cheeks again. "I am afraid that the terrible gossip in the Capital City will frighten her away before I've had the chance to make my move."

Uther smiled. "Your secret's safe with me, lad." He wasn't about to ruin anything that brought such happiness to his disciple. "Drink the rest of your broth. I'll come check on you in a few hours."

 

 

He did as he promised; in fact, every time Arthas awoke for the next week, Uther was at his side. Arthas wondered if the paladin had slept at all since he had arrived, other than the occasional bedside nap. He was grateful for the company. The paladin was glad for their chatter, too; he had always felt he was growing apart from the prince as of late, but now their philosophical discussions together reminded him of just how much he loved the boy. On the fifth day, Arthas asked politely if Uther wouldn't mind taking him through some of the classes he would be missing, and Uther was overcome by a swell of paternal pride. The prince's mood was light and his motivation had grown; they speculated that the illness had been building for some time, and had contributed to the his erratic behaviour before he fell ill.

Sometime during the afternoon of the seventh day, they were in the middle of a lesson on the Light and life after death when Uther suddenly shifted forward in his chair and set the Holy Book aside. He took the boy's calloused hands between his own, as if he were a small child again. Arthas looked up, surprised.

"Uther?"

"Arthas," murmured the paladin, "there is something you should know. Your father doesn't want me to tell you; he thinks it will just add to your stress. I can't blame him for his concern, but I don't feel that hiding it from you is the best thing."

The prince's eyes grew wide at the paladin's earnest tone. He nodded solemnly. Uther sighed and stared with pity at the boy.

"Arthas, your father is quite ill. We have been working hard to prepare treatments for him, but we think..." His eyes dropped from the other's shocked gaze. "He's dying, lad."

The prince's eyebrows narrowed with disbelief. "Dying?" he whispered. His father was old and frail, no mistake, but...dying?

"It's cancer," said Uther softly. "We've judged that he has two years, at the most. It will slowly weaken his body until..." He sighed and squeezed the boy's hands. "I'm sorry, lad. I've wanted to tell you, but..."

Arthas shifted to stare at the ceiling. So, he would be king within two years. A stroke of guilt slashed his stomach at the sudden overwhelming anxiety about ascending the throne. His concern for his father was only an afterthought, a duty. He took in a slow breath of air through his lips and let it out through his nose. Was he really so selfish that he would worry about himself before his own father?

It made sense, really. His father had never played a large part in his life; if anyone was a paternal figure to him, it was Uther. In fact, he could probably count the number of intimate conversations he'd shared with the King on one hand. Less than that. On his thumb. Still, it was his father -- shouldn't he feel some sadness about losing him?

"There's nothing you can do to slow it?" he asked quietly.

Uther didn't need to answer. The healing powers of men were limited; healing magics were designed to heal battle gashes, not diseases.

The paladin stared at the prince's rough hands in his own. "This is why I've been so hard on you, lad," he said solemnly. "It's possible that you will be King before your twenty-fifth year. That leaves very little time to show the people of Lordaeron that they will have a proper king at your father's passing."

The shock was starting to wear off, and now Arthas thought of his frail father, of his gentle eyes, of the reserved praise he paid his son after a deed well done. He wanted to prove to his father that he was worthy of his succession; he wanted to give him a strong grandson who would carry on the line. Two years wasn't enough time for any of this...

"Will it be painful?" he whispered.

"We will try to ease his pain as much as possible," replied Uther softly. He lay the prince's hands on the bedcovers.

Arthas rolled onto his right side, facing his mentor, and curled slightly.

"Uther," he whispered. "Would you mind...reading to me?"

The paladin smiled sadly. "Of course, lad." He hadn't read to the prince since the boy's fourteenth year, when he had adamantly declared that he was too old for bedtime stories. Uther looked around; there was a shelf of books by the wall, but Arthas shook his head.

"From the Holy Book, please," he whispered. "Where you were before. The bit about what we will find after death."

Uther nodded solemnly and pulled the book onto his lap, then flipped to a dog-eared page. The prince listened, hoping that the Light's word might soothe his anxieties, but tears sprang to his eyes instead. He blinked them away. He hadn't cried since he was a young lad, and he wasn't about to start now.

 

 


	7. Book One - VI

 

**VI**

 

As Arthas' illness was not disclosed to the public, Jaina had no idea if her package had helped or not, nor even if it had arrived at its destination. The only thing she knew for certain was that Arthas was still alive, for the kingdom would be gripped in mourning at his death. In the meantime, she distracted herself by studying diligently for her exams.

One week after Arthas had left for the Cliffs, the four women approached the examination room. Posted on the closed door was a scroll from the Archmage Antonidas saying that the exams had been postponed for three months.

"Three months?" cried Jaina. "That's ridiculous!"

"I've heard they like to delay exams for no reason whatsoever," muttered Sallia. "My mother's friend spent nearly two years waiting for the exams to be complete before she finally got accepted."

Jaina began to fume as they walked home. How dare they postpone her lifelong dreams on a whim? Deranis glared.

"Calm down," she snapped. "You're more upset about this than about the prince's illness."

"Shut up!" said Jaina; she pressed her fingertips to her temples.

She spent the rest of her night locked in her room, her face in her hands. Tears streamed down her arms. She cried with worry, for Arthas. She cried with shame and regret, for Kael. She cried with homesickness, for her father. She cried with anger at Deranis, at the Archmage, and at the Kirin Tor for being so elusive. When she was finally able to see straight and the tears began to slow, she opened the book that Kael had given her. Perhaps learning a new spell would distract her.

But even magic, which had always brought her happiness before, only led her to misery. The spell was Teleport, and try as hard as she might, she couldn't move more than a few inches from her original position. Eventually her focus faded so that she couldn't go anywhere at all; she let out a scream and threw the book at the wall, sinking to her knees in a new round of sobs.

They all must have heard her anguish through the thin walls, but no-one -- not even Loti -- approached.

 

 

At the sound of roosters, Jaina's eyelids fluttered and parted. She sat on the floor, her cheek on her bed; she must have wept in her sleep, for the fabric was damp beneath her face. She stood and slipped out the door.

The morning air was chilly; she rubbed her hands on her arms and began to wish she had brought a cloak with her. The thought of returning to the gloomy house pained her more than the thought of continuing without a cloak, so she continued to walk.

Brennan was just setting up his stall when she arrived. He looked at her blotchy face with concern.

"Do you have time to chat, Lady Jaina?" he asked. "I was just about to make a pot of tea."

"That would be nice, thank you, Brennan," she murmured. He pulled out a folding chair and bade her to sit, then set the kettle to boil over a small fire that burned in a little pit behind his cart. His gnarled hands quickly assembled the rest of the cart, then laid out the books and spell implements. Jaina watched, emotionless. In the background, she could hear the chatter of other shopkeeps; pigs and sheep cried in their pens, and a flock of hens flitted past her as their keeper urged them to the correct stall.

Brennan turned to blow out the flames, then poured two cups of tea. The white porcelain mug was delightfully warm in her numb hands.

"Cream?" he asked.

"Please," she said gratefully. He poured a generous dollop into the amber liquid and she stirred it until the colour was even.

"Is everything okay, Lady Jaina?" asked Brennan gently, pulling out a chair for himself. He sat and blew on the hot liquid in the mug.

"The Kirin Tor has delayed the second set of exams for three months," she said.

"The Kirin Tor is growing far too exclusive for its own good," murmured the mage. He took a long sip of tea, then continued. "The examinations are less and less accessible each year. I don't know what those crusty mages think they're doing. I suppose their self-imposed isolation makes them feel superior to the rest of the populace." After a moment, he chuckled and said, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be jading you with my bitter views."

"That's okay," she said sadly. "I'm beginning to see that the Kirin Tor isn't all roses and no thorns."

"Most definitely not," said the mage. "But I sense that you are so dedicated to magic that you would gladly tolerate the thorns."

Jaina smiled at the compliment and bowed her head. "Thank you."

He smiled, too, then gave a sigh and leaned back in his chair. "Well, while you're waiting for the exams, you might as well cover the first-year curricula on your own. They may be able to place you in more advanced classes if you've mastered the beginners' spells."

"I suppose I'll need a first year book, then," she said with a smile. "And that reminds me: I wonder if you would mind helping me learn to teleport? I've tried, to no avail; the furthest I could move is six inches."  
"Teleport's a tricky spell," said the mage. "Having the right staff makes a difference. What type of staff are you using?"

"None, yet," said Jaina with a blush. His shaggy eyebrows shot up.

"You managed to move six inches without the aid of a staff? Not even I can do that. The spell is so complex that it requires a channelling object to augment your focus."

He stood and gazed at his staves, one hand at his beard, then selected one and handed it to her. The staff was of a dark chestnut wood, and it was surprisingly light in her hands. The tip was a cone of brilliant blue; it was joined to the staff with a wrapped strip of white linen. An orb was at the tip of the cone, and it glowed brilliantly the instant the staff touched her hands. Brennan stared, impressed.

"You've used a staff before?"

"Never," said the woman.

"Then you're the first person I've seen who can channel through it without instruction," said the mage as he motioned to the glowing orb. His eyes were wide. "Try to teleport now."

Jaina's eyes slipped closed and she swung the staff in a horizontal arc in front of her body; her lips chanted the spell under her breath. A glowing white circle appeared beneath her feet, then she disappeared.

"I just teleported!" came an ecstatic voice from behind Brennan's back. He turned to see Jaina standing well on the other side of the cart.

"You most certainly did," he said, stunned. "And a good three metres, too. On your first try. I am...speechless." He sank to his chair. "Lady Jaina," he said, "you should march up to the Violet Citadel and pound at the door until they let you in. I have never seen anyone so talented as you."

She blushed, euphoric.

"That staff right there will get you well into your studies with the Kirin Tor," said Brennan. "It's one of the most powerful channelling implements I have without upgrading to mana orbs."

"I'll take it!" she breathed. She pulled out her coin purse and handed him the correct amount of gold; it cost her the entire sum of pocket money she had set aside for the next month, but she would live without it. She hadn't been spending much money lately, anyway.

He considered, then handed her the books with the first and second-year curricula. "If you can handle Teleport, you should be able to handle the rest of these without trouble," he said. He waved off her insistence that she pay for the books, saying only, "Come find me again if you need help."

"I will." She smiled and bowed. "Thank you, Brennan." She was anxious to get home and test out the staff on the spells she already knew.

"Oh, and Lady Jaina?" asked the mage. "The ice wand -- did you put it to good use?"

"It remains to be seen if it was useful or not, but I can assure you it went to a good cause." She bowed again and bade him farewell.

 

 

The next few weeks passed quickly as she threw herself headlong into her studies. The first-year curricula was simple, especially with the aid of a staff, and she mastered it within the first week. By the end of the second week, she was halfway through the second-year curricula.

She was almost finished the book when, one day shy of four weeks from the day that Arthas had visited them for dinner, a messenger arrived. It was late evening, so Jaina was already in bed, intent on reading herself to sleep.

Sallia knocked at the door to Jaina's room. "Message for you," she cried.

The scroll was unmarked. The blonde's pulse quickened and she clutched it to her chest, a smile spreading across her cheeks.

"And here we'd thought you and Prince Kael broke up," said Sallia brightly. "This is so exciting! I'm going to tell the others."

"No, don't-" said Jaina, but it was too late; Sallia had poked her head into Deranis' room. Jaina sighed and closed the door. Let them think it was Kael; she didn't want to deal with their questions about Arthas.

The knife trembled in her hand as she slit the unmarked wax. The writing was thick and heavy, but surprisingly elegant. It suited him.

_Lady Jaina,_

_Your presence is graciously requested at the town hall at nine-thirty tonight._

_From, Anonymous_

She laughed at his cheeky signature and a tear trickled down her cheek. She caught her happy expression in the looking glass out of the corner of her eye. Her hands planted onto the top of the bureau and she stared boldly at her reflection. Time to try this again.

"Tonight," she whispered, "I will make love to a prince."

Her reflection's cheeks turned bright red as her knees buckled slightly beneath her. Then she threw back her head and let out a joyous laugh.

Her feet danced in a random pattern along the floor as she gathered the bath oil and a towel. She let the oil spill into the water, then was about to light the coals beneath it when she wondered if there was a spell in her manuals for heating water. She spent nearly half an hour searching her texts. There was none, so she had to heat it the usual way, cursing under her breath for wasting so much time.

By the time she was done washing, it was nine o'clock. She rushed to put on a clean purple frock -- a simple one, with a square collar, long sleeves, and a tapered waist -- then struggled to comb through her wet, gnarled hair. Originally, she had intended to put it in a braid, but it was already nine-thirty by the time she'd finished combing it, so she left it loose. She decided to forego any make-up, as the others would have too much time to ask questions if she sat at the powder table. A few faint dabs of perfume, and she was ready.

Sallia and Deranis were chatting at the table over a glass of wine. Jaina slipped past them as quickly as she could, ignoring their greeting; she grabbed her boots and pulled them on only once she was outside the door.

 

 

The silhouette of a man leaned against the stone wall of the town hall. An enormous horse stood nearby. Jaina's heart began to beat in her throat and her pace slowed as she approached.

Arthas lifted his head; he brushed his pants with the palms of his hands, then combed through his hair with his fingers and stood tall. Her footsteps were so light that they made no sound against the cobblestone, and her approach was so slow and graceful that he wondered if he had fallen ill again and was hallucinating this vision of beauty.

"Good evening," he called, his voice ridiculously timid to his ears. "I was afraid you had decided not to come."

Jaina stopped nearly two metres away from him and bowed her head. "And here I thought I was on time for once," she said, smiling shyly. "You are looking well, Milord," she added, her cheeks hot as she stared at her feet.

"How would you know if you won't look at me?" asked Arthas with a smile. She flushed deeper and lifted her chin to meet his gaze. He had obviously lost some weight; his cheeks were a bit hollow, his eyes a bit sunken, but he stood before her very much alive. The collar of his shirt was high and buckled at the throat with the Lordaeron insignia; he wore a deep maroon cape, and his loose pants flattered his long, muscled legs. His eyes sparkled in the moonlight as he gazed upon her.

"It is a pleasure to see you, Jaina," he added. He wasn't sure what to do with his hands, so he clasped them in front of his body.

"I feared I would never see you again," she said softly. She had forgotten how velvety his voice was.

"Uther assures me that might have been the case," he said, "if not for the aid of an anonymous helper. Apparently someone generously sent a gift that saved my life." He smiled as he watched her, rocking shyly in his stance. "It's a shame it was anonymous, for I very much would have liked to thank this mysterious benefactor."

A smile spread across her lips. "I'm sure your continued health is thanks enough, Milord."

"Please," he said. "Arthas."

"Arthas," she corrected bashfully; it was a struggle not to drop her gaze from his. A tiny muscle on her upper lip began to jump.

He took a step towards her; she could feel his breath on her face. It smelled of mint. Her jaw quivered and her eyes were wide.

"I've never seen you so shy," murmured the prince.

"I could say the same for you," she replied, noting the darkness on his gaunt cheeks. He chuckled softly.

"That's because I've never been shy before." His hand pressed lightly to her arm and his thumb moved in a flutter of a caress. "You have bewitched me, young sorceress."

Her eyelids were drooping. "Good," she whispered.

He moved closer; their fronts were almost touching. His thumb still caressed her arm. The woman saw now how tall he really was; her head barely reached his shoulder. She could easily bury her face in the cleft down the centre of his chest, if she so chose.

"I wondered if you had any plans for tonight, Jaina," he whispered.

The blonde forced a lighthearted laugh; it was strangled slightly by her hastening breaths. "Just to get as far away as possible from my obnoxious roommates."

"That can be arranged." Arthas smiled. "My steed is at our disposal; we are free to go anywhere you'd like." His hand dropped gently from her arm. "My only request is that it is a place far from this accursed town. I haven't quite re-acclimatized to city life yet." The civilization he had longed for during his first day at the Cliffs now seemed confining.

Jaina smiled, too. "I know of just the place," she whispered, and she gave him quick directions.

Arthas bent and clasped his hands to help her mount the enormous steed. She hiked up her skirts as soon as one foot was in the stirrup, then swung her other leg over the horse's torso. The prince chuckled.

"Most ladies would ride side-saddle," he pointed out as he mounted to sit in front of her.

"I come from a land of sailors and merchants," she retorted with a grin to cover her embarrassment. "You're fortunate I wear skirts at all, let alone ride properly with them."

"I have no objection should you decide to go without," he said smoothly.

She giggled, and was immediately horrified by the girlish noise. A flush ran across her cheeks as she gripped the horse tightly with her thighs. Her hands shyly pressed to Arthas' waist. He shuddered a bit under her warm touch.

"You'd better hold on tighter than that," he chided, maintaining his poise; he gripped the reins and let out a low call. The horse bolted forward. Jaina let out a surprised cry and clung tightly to him; he looked down at her white knuckles, amused.

"I warned you," he murmured.

"If I didn't know better, Prince Arthas," she accused, "I'd say you were making him gallop so that I would press myself to your body."

"Gallop? Most certainly not," he replied. "His gallop is faster still." He let out a cry; the horse broke into a run. Jaina shrieked and pressed her cheek to the prince's back. They careened down the cobblestone and through the city gate.

"Slow down!" cried Jaina, yelling to be heard over her whipping hair.

"I'm afraid I'm enjoying your frantic embrace too much to slow him," replied Arthas.

"I won't let go," she promised, shy.

The prince tugged the reigns and horse slowed to a gentle stride. Jaina's arms were still tight around his waist. She slowly relaxed her grasp on his cloak and her index finger began to timidly slide back and forth against the fabric covering his hip bone. Her cheek was warm against his back, and with every step the horse took, her full breasts rubbed a little against his back. Arthas dropped his chin and closed his eyes for a moment, letting out a soft sigh. It had been a long time since a woman had held him this tenderly.

"Your heart is beating quickly," observed Jaina softly; she closed her eyes and listened to the strong heartbeat. Arthas tried to think of an appropriate response, but there didn't seem to be one. Instead, he leaned back slightly into her embrace.

The cobblestone gave way to dirt, and as the horse padded along, the prince tried to convince himself to put his hand over hers, but he was too content to move. Eventually his right hand came to rest on her knee. She nuzzled slightly into his back. He smelled warm and pleasantly musky, and the silken fabric of his cape was soft against her cheek.

Soon he saw the landmark she had referred to in her directions. His voice reverberated against her ear, startling her.

"This must be the place."

Jaina looked up to see the broken cart; it sat without wheels, and moss consumed most of its frame. She smiled; it looked surprisingly the same as it had a decade earlier.

"Yes," she replied softly. "Just past those trees." The night air chilled her skin as she pulled away from his back. He slowed the horse to a stop, then dismounted and turned to help her down. He corralled the horse to the cart.

"Will he be okay?" murmured Jaina.

"He'll stay happily there until we come back for him," said Arthas, patting the horse on the neck. "He's waited for me through worse." He turned to her and smiled, then awkwardly held out his hand to motion for her to lead the way.

It took her a moment to find the overgrown path. Arthas had to duck a number of times -- the low-lying branches didn't interfere with her small frame, but were too low for him -- and the forest grew thicker around them. He glanced about nervously as darkness began to close in on them.

"You aren't leading me to my death, are you?" he murmured; she chuckled.

"I figured a brave warrior such as yourself wouldn't be afraid of the dark," she teased. "We're almost there." Her hands trembled as she pushed a stray branch out of the way.

A few minutes later, the trees thinned and gave way to a small clearing. Arthas stepped into it, his breath catching in his throat.

The floor of the clearing was laden with soft, spongy moss, and was cut by a rocky stream bed through its diametre. Water trickled lazily over the rocks that cut the moon's reflection into hundreds of tiny sparkles. The prince paced across the moss to the stream and knelt before it, watching the sparkles dance. He dipped a hand into the water, and the reflections shimmered and divided further. She knelt beside him.

"In the springtime," she said, "all kinds of flowers bloom along the edge of the stream: tulips, daisies, daffodils, pansies. It is the most colourful, beautiful thing ever." She smiled. "We used to have a summer home not far from here. I would slip away from my family and sit by this stream, practicing the summoning of water elementals away from their prying eyes. Sometimes I'd just sit and meditate."

"You are devoted to your craft," he said, impressed.

"And you to yours," she said, gathering her knees in her arms. "There are not many princes in the world who would devote their studies to the betterment of humankind; it can't be easy being a prince, and it certainly isn't easy to train to be a paladin." She smiled shyly. "You are an amazing man, Arthas, and the kingdom will be proud the day you ascend the throne."

He turned his head and gazed at her intently, a look of wonder on his face.

"That was the nicest compliment I've ever been given," he whispered honestly. "Thank you." His large hand reached out to cup her cheek. The skin of his fingers was rough and calloused as they slid across her jaw to nestle in her hair -- a far cry from the soft, healing paladin's hands she had anticipated.

The hand began to tremble against her cheek, and she realized with surprise that he was just as nervous as she was. Her hand rose to cover his and she turned her head, planting a gentle kiss into his palm. His breath caught in his throat as she kissed along his finger. Surprised by her own bravery, she took its tip into her moist, warm mouth. He shuddered and watched through half-slit eyes as she nibbled and suckled at the sensitive flesh. Then he wrenched his finger free; his hand gripped her jaw and his mouth pressed forcefully to hers.

She didn't want to compare him to Kael, but the difference was so remarkable that she couldn't help it. Where Kael had kissed with precision and restraint, Arthas kissed with a raw, coarse longing. His stubble raked across her chin, just as it had in her dream so long ago, and his warm tongue slid between her lips. His hand was tight on her jaw; it slowly relaxed and the kiss grew softer, then he pulled away. She gasped, breathless; her eyebrows were pinched, her mouth half-open, and her cheeks dark. The prince stared at her and wondered if she realized how beautiful she looked at that moment.

Her hand gripped his shirt as she leaned forward for another kiss. She suppressed a groan as his tongue delved deep into her mouth; she rubbed it gently with her teeth, and her fingers arched into his back, urging him closer.

Arthas brought his free hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, then trailed it slowly down her front to rest on her breast. Jaina whimpered audibly into his mouth and tugged the hand at her jaw down to the other breast; she laced her fingers through his and squeezed. The prince sucked in a quick breath through his nose and broke their kiss to deliver a series of soft, lingering pecks; his breath was hot against her lips. His grip tightened and he grasped and pulled at her breasts. The woman arched hard into his rough, manipulating hands, overwhelmed by the fervour of his motions.

He broke the series of kisses and pressed his body close to hers as he moved his mouth to her ear. His tongue lapped quickly at the canal, moistening it so that every breath from his nostrils sent her into shudders as his lips worked at her earlobe. He sucked hard at the tender flesh, sliding his teeth across it. She shuddered and sobbed, begging him to stop with whimpers of protest even as her fingers formed claws at his back, forcing his body flat against hers. The position was awkward, as they still sat side-by-side, their torsos twisted; Arthas stopped his assault and lingered by her ear.

"This would probably be easier if we lay down," he whispered harshly.

She nodded almost frantically in agreement. His hands guided her back to the soft, dry moss that carpetted the ground. He crouched overtop of her, on his hands and knees, and stared down at her flushed face and twitching smile.

Jaina watched him with piercing blue eyes. Her hands traced the flush beneath the faint freckles of his skin. She shyly bit her lower lip and her eyes dropped under his determined gaze.

"Are you frightened?" he asked, a little surprised.

"You are very intense, Arthas," she whispered, awed.

His hand slid back to nestle in the hair behind her ear; he stroked the lobe gently with his thumb.

"I'm sorry," he said, lacing the word with unfamiliar sincerity. "I want to linger, Jaina, to bring you as much pleasure as I can..." He bent to kiss her jaw. "But it's so hard to slow myself with you," he murmured into the soft skin. "I am torn between my reason and my urges."

"Then follow your urges," she whispered, surprised by his eloquence. "Don't slow yourself. I want to be swept away in your passion." She hesitated, then added softly, "Please."

A slow smile tugged at his mouth, then a soft flutter of air left his nose as he sank his lips into the flesh of her neck. Her eyes closed and her mouth slid open; her hands raked his back, gently at first, but harder as he began to use his teeth. Arthas slid one hand under her neck and he lifted her gently off the ground. Jaina lay limp in his arms, feeling blissfully weakened; eventually she managed to control herself enough to lift her thigh so that it pressed firmly between his legs. The fabric at his crotch was taught with the hardened flesh beneath. He shifted slightly in a faint thrust; his mouth moved to find a fresh patch of skin further along her neck. His leg shifted, too, so that the upper thigh pressured her groin. Her head tossed and she murmured something too faint to hear. He pulled back to look at her, tucking the hair behind her ear.

"Please," she gasped again, her eyes closed.

He lay her gently to the ground and sat over her; had her eyes been open, she would have seen the look he had given her after dinner nearly one month ago, the look that Deranis had described with amazing accuracy. His trembling hands rose to the clasps on the front of her frock.

Jaina's breath came in small gasps as she allowed him to peel the frock down her shoulders to her waist. He moved to sit by her feet and his fingers hooked onto either side of the fabric by her hips; he slid the frock off of her ankles. Her boots and stockings followed, one at a time, then her undergarments. Jaina lay motionless, her eyes still closed, as the crisp night air raised goose bumps on every bit of her exposed skin.

It had been Arthas' full intention to take the woman quickly and hard, to save the specifics and exploration for later, but she was so beautiful that he crouched beside her and ran a hand down the front of her body. Her breasts were large and spry, the areolas surprisingly pale and almost perfectly circular, even in the cool air. Her stomach was soft and curved, her waist narrow, and her hips magnificently rounded. The thatch of wiry hair between her legs was dark and even: his fingers rested there for a moment, then slid down to the soft, warm lips. One finger slipped between them for lubrication and then back up to find the swollen nub of flesh. Jaina whimpered and her thighs edged further apart. He slid the finger back down and slowly penetrated her depths; his thumb traced delicate circles around the moistened clitoris. She cried out, her hands clawing into the moss.

He grinned, pleased by the effect his ministrations were having on her, and his mouth traced a slow, breathy line up to her breasts, where it tugged gently at a nipple. His free hand slid up to rest in her hair. She gasped and quivered beneath him; her arms clamped around his torso, holding him tightly to her as she began to sob along with the rhythm of his thumb. Her walls began to tighten around his finger.

And just when she thought she would find release, he shot her a cocky smirk from his position at her breast and pulled his hand away. Jaina's eyes snapped open and she whimpered in protest.

Arthas delicately let the nipple fall from his lips as he slowly, torturously kissed down her soft abdomen. When he at last reached the sensitive flesh between her legs, his breath was so hot that she shifted her pelvis into it, forcing his mouth against her. He let out a hum of pleasant surprise; she cried out at the vibration and forced her fingers into his hair, frantically raking it and smoothing it. Two thick fingers parted her flesh and slid into her depths, and he continued to suck and nibble.

Her scent was musky and sweet; Arthas took in a long, deep breath through his nose, allowing her aroma the chance to seep into his mind. He pulled back slightly and exhaled the breath on her flesh. She arched into him, forcing contact again, and he couldn't help but chuckle at her zeal. A smile spread across Jaina's lips, too, but it disappeared as his probing fingers, quite by chance, found a sensitive spot. She yelled and the muscles contracted around his fingers. He prodded and massaged; she bore down on him, clutching his head firmly against her body with her clawing hands, then suddenly grew quiet as her breath began to catch in her throat. Arthas leaned into his arm, forcing himself as hard as he could into her depths.

Jaina shrieked and a series of quakes rocked her body. Her cries gradually faded into gasps, then into whimpers; her hands slid from his hair and fell limp to the moss. When the last contraction had left her body, the prince gave one last suckle at the flesh and sat up.

Arthas' fingers were dripping; he was surprised by the quantity of liquid. He looked around for somewhere to wipe them. He was about to use his cape when she reached out a lazy hand and gripped his wrist, bringing it to her lips. She pulled his fingers deep into her mouth and sucked the juices. He watched from under drooping lids, his breath quickening. She pulled the fingers out of her mouth all too soon, giving a gentle bite into the pads as they withdrew.

"Jaina," he croaked, "you have the most peculiar mix of virginal shyness and kinky boldness I have ever seen." His pants were uncomfortably binding.

"Your turn," breathed the blonde, and he thought for a panicked moment that she was going to go down on him -- how was he going to explain his reluctance to her? -- but the woman reached up for his shirt with her free hand, pulling him on top of her. She ducked her head to place a deep kiss just underneath the corner of his jaw. She slid across to his chin and took the tip of it into her mouth. He remembered the dream he had had while he was ill and almost pulled away, but this bite was gentle and controlled. Her fingers worked at the buttons of his shirt as she sucked hard at the flesh. His stubble grated against her rubbing tongue. She moved along his jaw line, the skin burning pleasurably under her rough kiss, and his eyes slid closed. He raised himself on one elbow so that she could reach all of the buttons of his shirt. When the last was undone, he sat up and tossed the garment aside.

Jaina sat up, too, and watched with patient azure eyes as he shifted to remove the rest of his clothing. When he was at last naked, he sat on his heels before her, a bit self-conscious under her examining gaze.

The blonde crept forward to sit on his knees; he gripped her lower back. Her hands pressed to his throat and slid across the broad collarbone, then down to his muscled chest. She stroked the thick, wiry blond fur there with one hand; this was a new sensation. None of her past lovers had chest hair, and she had always figured it would disgust her, but the fur was surprisingly soft and her hand decided to linger there for a moment longer. The other hand spread and slid down his toned abdomen, tracing the patch of fur until it widened and darkened into the thick fuzz between his legs. His harsh breaths began to shake as she took his base between two fingers. Her hand curled to grip the shaft.

Arthas' head dropped and he gasped at the pressure; a curtain of his thick blond hair fell between them as he lunged to sink his lips into the flesh of her neck. Her head jerked backwards and she let out a quick cry, squeezing him hard in her hand. He licked at the skin, trying to coax her fist to tighten around him once more. Jaina did squeeze harder; she also arched her back until her chest pressed against his. The contact of skin to skin was overwhelming, and they gasped in unison. He gripped her ribcage firmly in one arm, holding her tightly to him as he began to use his teeth on her neck. She whimpered and began to slowly rock him in her hand.

Their bodies dipped back to lay on the moss once more. His weight was delicious against her body, and Jaina was surprised to find that she was again desperately aroused. She let out a long, soft moan, deliberately taunting him, and her rocking hand slid along his shaft; her thumb rested on the moist tip, moving in gentle circles. Her legs clamped firmly around his thigh, and a tiny bead of fluid trailed down his skin from her damp centre. The prince's eyes slid shut and ragged breaths rasped against her neck as he began to thrust into her hand.

"Jaina..." he whispered.

"Please," came her strangled reply.

His hands roughly pushed her thighs to either side of his body. Fingers parted the moist lips as he slowly, gently slid into her depths. She was warm, wet and tight, and every muscle in the prince's body contracted as he held back a sudden threatening climax; he pulsed once inside her, and she groaned. Her eyes were heavily lidded as she searched his; tiny gasps escaped her parted lips.

After an agonizing moment, he withdrew almost to the tip, then slowly slid into her again. A moan sounded in her throat. She bit her bottom lip, still watching him attentively, and he clenched his teeth. He pulled out then thrust a little harder this time. Her eyelids fluttered and the hand at his back raked down his spine; her hips tilted so that she took him in deeper. His head dropped and his next thrust was more urgent. She matched it with a powerful counter-thrust.

"Arthas," she pleaded; her hands clamped onto his hips, and the fingers dug into the flesh. He raised himself on both arms and began to thrust as quickly as he could bear without reaching climax. Jaina's mouth sagged and she began to whimper in time as warmth built in her groin; he increased their tempo. The warmth spread violently up her chest and took control of her lungs, and she cried out his name; her hands tightened and her back arched as the warmth flooded her brain. She screamed and sobbed and whimpered, her depths clenching vigorously around him. He tensed, tightening his jaw as he forced himself to hold back until she was finished. As her cries finally slowed, he withdrew; a shuddering grunt escaped from between clenched teeth as hot, creamy liquid spurted onto the moss floor between her thighs.

He crouched there, gasping for breath, until Jaina brought up a hand and tangled it in the golden locks plastered to the nape of his neck. He let out a quiet sigh and opened his eyes to give her a small, warm smile, then sank to rest his face against her stomach. The glowing skin of his cheek burned against her flesh.

 

 

They lay like that for some time. Arthas closed his eyes: her stomach gurgled beneath his ear, and he could hear her heartbeat faintly in the background. Her hand stroked the back of his neck, soothing. He had the urge to curl up and fall asleep.

Eventually, however, other urges began to take over again, and blood rushed to his groin. Arthas ignored the sensation; he wasn't going to force her into another round so soon.

He moved to lay beside her and stared into her eyes. She gazed back; a blush rose to her cheeks.

"Thank you," she whispered, and he saw by her twitching lips that his intensity was making her uncomfortable again. Desperate to make contact and break the tension, his fingertips floated to her narrow mouth. Her lips parted; he traced the crack between them, then their border, then slid the hand so that the palm pressed to her cheek. She mimicked his motions, tracing his mouth; she was sidetracked by a faint scar that ran from below his lip up and across to the side of his nose. She wouldn't have noticed it if not for the texture: it was slightly jagged beneath her fingertips.

"Where did this come from?" she whispered.

"My first battle," he replied softly, smiling grimly at the memory. "Part of it has finally faded; it used to be like this." He guided her fingertip in a V on his face; the second line was invisible, save for the fact that it was bare of stubble.

"Sword?" she asked.

"Axe," he replied. "The orc had me on my back; he swung the axe in a blow that would have taken most of my face had Syrius not intervened and blocked in time." He moved his hands to demonstrate the motion. She watched, impressed by the graceful movements of his muscled fingers. "I am fortunate he was there at that moment."

"Indeed," she whispered. "It would have been a shame to lose this." Her fingers timidly ran up the noble length of his nose; it was long and straight, save for the boyish snub at the end. Her fingertips slid to the scar that lay across the bridge, and she timidly traced it.

Arthas closed his eyes. The wound had healed, finally, though the scar was jagged and ugly. It shamed him and horrified him, as Uther had foretold: every day, it reminded him of the disgrace he had brought to Uther and his father. He had never expected anyone would caress it with such tenderness.

"And what about this?" she murmured.

Arthas' eyelids parted. "That came from your elven prince," he said solemnly.

Her hand jerked away.

"You jest," she whispered, stunned.

"Not at all," he said. His eyes clouded.

"I'm sorry," she said, aware that she had disrupted the mood.

"Don't be." The left corner of Arthas' lips lifted again. "I want you to know everything about me, Jaina. The good and the bad." His knuckles smoothed the hair from her forehead. "But let's save the bad for later." His will to be a gentleman was being engulfed by his craving for her warm depths.

"Yes," she whispered. "Let's." Her eyelids grew heavy, and she slid her hand down his abdomen.

He bent forward to take her lower lip between his teeth.

 

 

She must have fallen asleep sometime after their second encounter, because she awoke to Arthas' hand against her cheek. He knelt beside her, smiling; how long had he been watching her? She sat up, suddenly self-conscious, and realized that she was shivering.

"It's getting late, Jaina," he said softly. "And cold. We'd best go back to town." He handed her the frock; he was already dressed. She pulled on her clothes. Arthas stood at the edge of the clearing, waiting for her.

Jaina was somber as they padded back down the pathway. He turned to cast her a few confused glances, but she didn't seem to notice.

"Are you alright?" he asked finally, grunting a bit as he pushed a branch out of his way.

She looked up at him and forced a smile. "I'm sorry, Arthas," she murmured. "I'm sad that this night must come to an end."

He stopped and turned, then put a hand on her shoulder. "There is always tomorrow night, if you're interested," he said. "I would greatly appreciate your company."

Jaina's eyes brightened. "Really?"  
He raised an eyebrow at her surprise. "Surely you don't think this was just a one night meeting."

"I was afraid it might have been," she said quietly. "Your reputation-"

"-is skewed by the fact that every woman wants to boast that she's slept with a prince, and every man wants to believe that their future king is a skilled womanizer." Arthas smiled and ran his hand along her shoulders so that his arm draped across it.

"I can assure you," he added, "once I've set my eyes to someone, I don't give her up easily."

She bowed her head, a pleased smile tugging at her lips.

 

 

He left her at the town hall with a deep kiss and a promise to meet her there the next night at the same time. She floated back to the house, an enormous grin plastered across her face.

She expected everyone to be in bed, but when she opened the door, they sat in the living room. A dark-haired man sat on the divan, his back to her. The aroma of wine hit her nostrils, and the squawk of Sallia's laughter twinged at her ears. Jaina stepped into the room, a little confused. The heads turned; four pairs of eyes locked on her.

"Hrm," said Sallia. "Flushed cheeks, tangled hair, smile -- and just what have you been up to?" She grinned. "So, you finally slept with him!" She waved her empty wine glass around. "Good on you, Jaina; you bagged a prince!"

It took the blonde a minute to realize that she was talking about Kael, not Arthas, and she let out a sigh of relief.

"Hi, Jaina," said Syrius. His eyes narrowed a bit at her appearance. Still confused, she drifted to sit in a chair.

"You know, I think Sallia might be right, for once," said Deranis, her eyes widening a little. "Jaina, are those love bites?"

The blonde dropped her head and pulled her hair forward to cover her neck. "Welcome back, Syrius," she said to the lord.

"Thanks," he replied, watching her suspiciously.

"How is Prince Arthas?" asked Jaina politely, glad that her cheeks were already flushed.

"He is well," said Syrius, his face softening slightly. "He returns tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" asked Jaina, surprised. The lord nodded.

"He wanted a day on his own to relax before he came back to the duties and expectations here." He raised an eyebrow, staring at the massive purple marks that showed through the gaps in the girls' hair. Evidently the prince had missed out on his chance with her. Arthas didn't take lightly to missing out on chances with women he fancied.

Jaina's head slid to rest against the back of her chair, and she grinned shamelessly. So Arthas had gone to great lengths to cover his tracks. The idea of keeping their affair secret was appealling: partly because she didn't want Kael to know, partly because she didn't want to be the centre of attention...but partly because there was something naughty about a hidden romance, something tempting and tantalizing.

"Excuse me," she said, standing a bit unsteadily. "I think I'm going to bed."

They watched her drift to the bedroom.

"And here we were beginning to think she was asexual," said Sallia.

"You know, it's funny," murmured Deranis. "I didn't think Prince Kael was in town."

 

 


	8. Book One - VII

 

 

**VII**

 

Torina tisked; the powder wasn't covering the marks on the prince's neck.

"It's no use. Perhaps we should just leave your hair down today, Milord," she murmured, reaching to tug the leather thong out of the end of his braid. "We'll just work on these ones here." She lifted his chin and started coating cover-up paste on the marks around it.

"Feisty one, wasn't she?" she added.

"Mmm, yes," said Arthas; his eyes slipped closed. A grin spread across his lips.

"You shouldn't be exhausting yourself so soon after your illness," scolded Torina. "And in the chill night air, no less! You'll catch your death-"

"Yes, yes, I know," he interrupted with good humour. "I tell you, Torina: if I fall ill again and die within the day, my life will not have been in vain."

"That good, was she?" asked the servant. Her fingertips touched a particularly nasty bite, and he jerked away; she held his chin tightly and pressed the cover-up to it. "Goodness," she murmured, "you'd think she was trying to eat you right up."

"It did seem that way," said Arthas solemnly. His eyes glazed over as he thought of the frenzied lead-up to their second encounter that had produced the mark. He had expected that their thirst would have been satisfied so that they could take their time and explore one another's bodies, but the second session had been even more frantic than the first.

"Torina," he said dramatically, "I am desperately in love."

"I can tell, Milord." She finished the foundation and chucked him under the chin. "Just don't get her pregnant."

Arthas laughed at her maternal clucking; she put her hands on her hips.

"I'm serious, Milord. The last thing we need is a little bastard prince running around."

"Speaking of little bastards," grumbled the prince, "I'm going to be late for the class if I don't leave now."

"Don't be too hard on 'em, now, Milord," said Torina firmly. "Remember, you were like them not so long ago."

Arthas peered into the mirror and tilted his head; the marks were well covered. He pulled his hair straight along the sides of his face, then stood tall, trying his best intimidating look.

"Alright," he said. "Have a good day, Torina."

"You, too, Milord," she said, watching him with a proud smile as he left.

The prince was in such a good mood that he began to whistle as he strutted down the hallway. The servants he passed looked up with wide eyes as he cheerfully greeted them; he put his hand to the wall as he spun around a corner, feeling deliciously alive.

He nearly collided with Uther. The paladin jumped.

"Sorry, Uther," laughed Arthas. "Didn't see you there. Good morning. How are you?"

The paladin stared at the prince, surprised by his disciple's chipper mood. Arthas was never a morning person.

"Beautiful day." Arthas began to strut past him, humming a little. Uther turned, still staring, then hurried to catch up.

The prince pushed open the wooden door to the training room; it was almost ridiculously heavy against his weakened arms, and he struggled a bit.

He looked across the recruits as Uther entered the room behind him. Though he knew they were mostly seventeen or eighteen, they looked to be fifteen with their sparse facial hair, enormous eyes and timid stature. His mentor strode to stand before the students, and the empty chatter immediately died.

"Good morning, everyone. You may be seated." Uther smiled; the sound of shuffling chairs reached their ears as the pupils scrambled into their seats.

"This is Brother Arthas," said Uther; the prince cast him a confused look at the title, but didn't question him. "He will be teaching you some of the basic paladin's precepts over the next few weeks. It is his first time teaching, so I'll hope you'll give him the utmost of respect."

"Hey, you're the Crown Prince, aren't you?" called one of the braver lads. Arthas faltered; he wasn't accustomed to being approached in such an informal manner by a stranger. His good mood began to fade.

"Yes, that's right," he said in what he hoped was a kind tone. "But there is no need for formalities here in the Order, so Brother Arthas will be fine."

"Why don't you have a beard?" asked another. Arthas gritted his teeth and cast an imploring look at Uther.

"Not all paladins are old folks like me," said the paladin patiently. "Brother Arthas is one of the youngest men ever to be accepted into the Order, but there are several other paladins in their twenties and thirties."

"How old are you?" challenged one of the recruits.

Uther nudged Arthas.

"Nearly twenty-three," said the prince through clenched teeth. He added under his breath, "Not that it's your business, impertinent maggot;" Uther shot him a raised brow, and the prince fell silent. The class began to murmur about their new teacher's youth.  
"Well, then," said Uther, his loud boom drowning out the chatter. "Let's get started with the Commandments. Brother Arthas, would you like to read them?"

The prince fumbled through his robes for his Holy Book before realizing he had sliced it in two a few weeks earlier. Uther hid a laugh as he handed the prince his copy, then stepped back to allow him the floor.

 

 

As Arthas struggled to keep his temper in check, Jaina awoke to see Sallia and Deranis standing over her, their arms folded over their chests.

"Alright," said Sallia, "we have just confirmed that Prince Kael wasn't in town last night. Neither was Prince Arthas. So, who is he?"

Jaina blinked. "You could have knocked first," she muttered as she sat up.

"We did. You slept through it." Deranis raised an eyebrow. "We were going to have a study group at ten, remember?"  
The blonde clutched at her forehead and winced. "Sorry," she murmured. She squinted up at the curly-haired woman, wondering why they were suddenly on speaking terms again.

Sallia slid to a seat beside her friend and put a hand on her shoulder. "You know you can tell us anything, right, Jaina? So, who was he?"

Deranis snorted to show just how trustworthy Sallia was.

"I tend to agree with Deranis on this one," said Jaina. "I think I'll keep it to myself, thanks."

"Oh, come on!" said Sallia. "I'd tell you if our situations were reversed!"

"You'd tell the whole town," muttered Deranis.

Jaina stood and walked to the wardrobe; she pulled on a cloak and yanked the hood over her head. She grabbed her texts and drifted into the common room. Her friends followed. Sallia waited eagerly, but Jaina launched right into their lessons.

The brunette listened half-heartedly, plotting how she would discover the identity of this mysterious lover. If she and Deranis worked together, Jaina wouldn't be able to keep her secret for long.

 

 

"I can't do this, Uther!" Arthas began to pace the empty training room. Uther sat down and forced back a smile.

"They'll respect you yet; just give them time. They're not used to seeing someone nearly their age in the classroom, that's all."

"A beard, Uther?" snapped Arthas as he stopped pacing. "A beard! They can ask me anything about paladin precepts, anything at all, and they ask why I don't have a beard?"  
"It was only four years ago that you were like them, lad," said the paladin cheerily. "Just wait: they will prove to be ardent students. You just have to be patient and understanding." He raised an eyebrow. "And it will help if you take the time to prepare the lessons so that you aren't stumbling over basic readings -- which you should know by heart, by the way-"

"Oh, of course," muttered the prince angrily. He flopped onto a chair. "Throw in a scolding, Uther, by all means; the day would seem lacking without one."

The paladin raised an eyebrow. Arthas dropped his chin and ran a hand through his wiry mane as he steadied himself.

"I will lend you my copy of the Holy Book until we can get you a replacement copy," said the paladin, choosing to ignore the prince's outburst. "I trust you'll take good care of it," he added with a none-too-subtle hint of irony.

Arthas accepted the copy with both hands. He leafed through the pages; they were yellowed and worn. He slid it shut and ran his fingers over the gold crest: a large gilt cross topped with a heart wearing a crown.

A smile slid across his lips as he remembered something he had wanted to ask; he looked up.

"'Brother Arthas,' Uther?"

"You're close enough to being a full-fledged paladin," murmured the paladin. "I figure the title can only help your students' respect for you."  
"Close enough? How close am I?" asked Arthas, surprised.

"If all goes well," said the paladin solemnly, "I expect to induct you formally into the ranks before your twenty-fourth year." He slid into a seat across from the prince.

Arthas' eyebrows shot up. "Really?"

Uther nodded. "If your behaviour hadn't taken a turn for the worse, I expect we would already be preparing the induction ceremonies."

The prince blinked. "This is unexpected," he murmured. "From the way you speak-"

"I know, lad. " Uther sighed. "I have been too hard on you." He reached out a hand to fondly pat the other's knee. "You are incredibly talented, Arthas. If you can get that temper of yours under control, you have the potential to be the greatest paladin the Silver Hand has ever produced."

The prince's eyes widened, then a giddy smile slid across his lips as he leaned back in his chair.

"No, no; don't let this go to your head," added Uther with a chuckle. "There's still plenty of work to do before then." He stood and stretched. "Oh, I almost forgot," he said. "We received word from Muradin. He will be coming in next Friday."

"Friday?" Arthas smiled. "A bit early, but that's okay. I'll start the preparations now, then."

"Write down what you need," said Uther. "I'll start the preparations; you work on your lesson plan for tomorrow."

The prince thanked his mentor and lifted his pen, searching for a scrap piece of paper.

When Uther had left, Arthas bent over his paper and flipped open the Holy Book, intent on getting the blasted lesson plan out of the way. He stared at the blank paper for a quarter of an hour, then began to leaf through the book, looking for inspiration. He wished Uther had given him some sort of guidelines to follow, but his mentor seemed to think that the prince should know exactly what to teach the recruits. Arthas' chin dropped into his hand and he tapped the pen against the page. Ink spurted across the Holy Book, sinking into the thin pages; he swore and mopped at it in vain with his cloak. Hopefully Uther wouldn't notice the dark stains; the prince slid the book closed and pushed it away with both hands, somewhat guilty.

He stared at the ink splotches that had spattered his paper; perhaps they would inspire him. He squinted, trying to make the shapes look like anything but spatter-marks, but they were too even. No inspiration there.

Eventually he dropped the pen with an irritated huff and stood. Perhaps some exercise would clear his head.

 

 

Nearly an hour later, Syrius sat on the bench and polished his sword as he talked about his conquest the night before; he had run into an ex-lover after he had left the girls' house. He quickly skimmed over his visit with his cousin, avoiding any mention of Jaina; thankfully, Arthas didn't seem to notice. The prince was going through some simple steps, his sword held aloft. The blade was heavy in his weakened grasp. At one point, he stumbled and dropped the sword. He swore and bent to pick it up; Syrius raised an eyebrow.

"Are you sure you're up for this?"

Arthas shot his friend a cocky smirk. "For once, it will be an even fight."

Syrius laughed. "You can expect no mercy after a comment like that." He stood and dropped the polishing cloth to the bench. "Ready?"

"Yes." Arthas steadied himself in stance and thrust out his blade; Syrius did the same. The blades clanged.

"Wait," said the lord, "aren't you going to tie back your hair?"

"My neck is a bit chilly after my illness," said Arthas faintly, annoyed that his normally inattentive friend would notice this detail. His blade clanged once more against the lord's. "Let's go, Syrius."

"It'll fall into your face," said the lord dubiously.

"I said, let's go!" snapped Arthas. Syrius shrugged.

They stared each other in the eye, each waiting for the other to make the first move. As always, Arthas did; he yelled and thrust at his friend's stomach. Syrius parried and thrust at the prince's throat. Arthas ducked and they began to circle one another, the game beginning again.

As the duel continued, Arthas grew weaker and weaker. Normally the one on the offensive, he was forced into defense; Syrius responded aggressively to any strikes he eventually attempted. The sword grew heavier in the prince's hand, and his footwork grew sloppy. He gritted his teeth as Syrius failed to capitalize on several mistakes in a row.

"Stop going easy on me!" he yelled between gasps.

"Arthas-"

"Fight me, Syrius!" snarled the prince.

The lord sighed and gave in. Arthas took a shaky slash at his partner's side; Syrius side-stepped and thrust. The blade slid beneath Arthas' hair, the flat of it resting against his neck.

"Happy?" muttered Syrius, avoiding his friend's gaze.

"Damnit!" shouted Arthas; his sword slipped from his fingers and clattered against the cobblestone. The noise echoed across the courtyard; several of the peasants milling about looked up, then moved hastily away.

"Sorry," said the lord as he withdrew the blade.

"Don't bloody apologize!" snapped Arthas. He sank to one knee and slammed a hand into the stone, breathing hard. Several curses flew from his lips.

"You're pressing yourself too hard," said the lord quietly. "You can't expect-"

"Shut up, Syrius," muttered the prince through ragged breaths. He pulled off his gloves and wiped the sweat from his face. When he looked at his hand, he saw clumps of thick beige make-up.

"Arthas," said the lord, and he crouched before his friend. "You have to keep in mind that-" His eyes widened.

"What happened to you?" he asked, stunned. He stared at the prince's darkened jaw line.

Arthas grumbled under his breath. The lord leaned in close and lifted his friend's chin. His lips spread into a disbelieving smile.

"Those are bite marks -- you screwed the servant girl, didn't you?"

Arthas blinked, then remembered that he was supposed to have been at the Cliffs until that morning.

"Molly. That was her name, right?" continued Syrius. "I knew you had a thing for her!"

The prince raised an eyebrow. "It always amazes me how well you can read me, Syrius," he said dryly. He jerked his chin out of his friend's grasp and rubbed at the tender marks.

"This is good news," said the lord. "Here I thought you were so head over heels for Jaina Proudmoore that you would be devastated if she..." He trailed off.

"Jaina Proudmoore?" Arthas tilted his head.

"Oh, come on; you think I didn't see those looks you were giving her at dinner that night? You don't normally look at a girl that way unless she's between your thighs."

Arthas flushed in spite of his annoyance at the lord's observations. "Yes, well, I admit she has caught my fancy; why do you bring her up?"

Syrius explained about his encounter with the woman the night before and about the massive love bites on her neck. The prince tensed, waiting for his friend to connect the incidents, but the lord was blissfully naive.

"That is unfortunate," murmured Arthas solemnly, hiding a smile. "I must admit she has caught my fancy. I should have liked to have been the one to mar her so." He raised an eyebrow, again waiting for his friend to make the connection.

"It might not be too late to win her heart," said Syrius with ridiculous optimism. "Perhaps we should invite all the roommates to your birthday celebration. You will have ample opportunity to make your move then."

"An excellent idea," said Arthas, and he let the repressed grin slide across his lips.

 

 

Later that night, Arthas sighed as he leaned against the stone wall of the town hall. His arms folded carefully over his chest. Jaina was almost an hour late. His stomach twisted as he wondered if she had decided not to come. What if she regretted everything?

A glowing white circle appeared on the ground in front of him a moment later. He barely had time to notice it before Jaina appeared, tightly gripping a long staff. Arthas jumped.

"Jaina?" he asked, confused.

"I decided it would be easier to sneak out unnoticed if I teleported," she said with a grin. "Sorry I'm late; my nosy roommates wouldn't leave me alone."

"That's okay," he replied. An eyebrow rose. "I didn't think teleportation was one of the easier spells."

"It isn't," she admitted.

A smile spread across his lips; so she had been the one to infuse the wand with the ice spell after all. He stared at her with such admiration that she blushed.

"Come on," she said. "Let's get out of here."

The prince helped her onto the horse. He swung up to sit behind her; she looked back, surprised that he was leaving her in charge of the reins.

"A child could drive him," said Arthas.

"But shouldn't you-"

"I will be otherwise occupied," murmured the prince. He slid one hand around her waist and smoothed the hair from the back of her neck with the other. He whispered the directions into her ear, then bent to suck at the skin at her nape. She shuddered, driving the plodding horse with half-opened eyes as he bit carefully into her flesh. One of his hands slipped down the front of her pants; he chuckled as she almost drove them off the road.

"What did you expect?" gasped Jaina, shuddering, as he brought his free hand to grip the reins. The horse whinnied, then continued along the road. After a moment, she added, "Goodness, you're worse than a horny teenager."

"I suppose that's what you reduce me to." Arthas grinned. "You want me to stop?"

"No," she whimpered; embarrassed by the feeble noises, she added in a stronger voice, "but if you don't, we won't make it to our destination." She yelped as he nipped her neck.

"Very well; I'll be patient." The prince withdrew his hand and placed it over hers.

"I don't know whether to be flattered or annoyed by your enthusiasm," she added after a moment. He chuckled and kissed her neck.

"I suggest you act flattered. I am your prince while you are in Lordaeron, after all."

The horse took them beyond the castle to the rocks lining Lordamere Lake. They dismounted the horse in an enormous grassy meadow nearby; the steed stayed behind, more than content to munch on the fertile greens.

Arthas took Jaina's hand as they walked to the rocky shore. He led her to a short cliff a few feet from the water; below it was a large, smooth shelf of rock that slid into the depths.

They sat there side-by-side. The night was warm; though there were clouds in the sky, the moon was bright. Arthas closed his eyes and let his head roll back, breathing in the night air. Though it was still summer, the faint smoke in the air reminded him of autumn. One of the peasants was probably burning grass clippings.

"When autumn comes, Jaina," he murmured lazily, "I am going to take you to the Cliffs and make love to you in a pile of leaves."

She didn't respond. Arthas opened his eyes and lifted his head. Jaina crouched before the water, her hand dipping tentatively beneath the surface. She stared across the lake, her eyebrows pinched.

"Jaina?" he asked, moving to sit closer to her.

She sighed and bowed her head with a hint of an ironic smile.

"Dalaran is just beyond that horizon," she murmured. "Sometimes it feels that this is the closest I will come to it." When he tilted his head, confused, she explained about the recent delay of the exams. "Besides," she murmured, "the examinations are so rudimentary that I don't have the chance to show them what I'm capable of."

Arthas' broad hand slid across her back. "Surely you could have your father put in a good word for you."

She chuckled and shook her head. "That's the silly thing. I'm too stubborn. I want to be accepted for my talents, not my social status."

"And yet," murmured Arthas, "even if you get into a school of your own accord, others will say it was only because of your status." His eyes clouded and his hand dropped from her back; he gathered his knees in his arms. "And every time you make even a tiny mistake, they will use it to justify their position. You will never, ever be seen as their equal by them, no matter how hard you work."

She stared at him, a little surprised by his changing mood.

"Arthas," she whispered. "I didn't mean to infer anything."

His jaw tightened. "Almost no one as young as I was has been accepted as a pupil to the Silver Hand," he continued bitterly. "I was nineteen, Jaina. Nineteen! I worked hard to get there, and Uther accepted me when he thought I was ready. But they all watch me with their jealous eyes-"

"Arthas-" she began, but he was too angry to stop.

"-and now because of one or two tiny mistakes, the mutterings of the men have forced Uther to assign me the most worthless and degrading job possible!" He shook his head. "You should see how they mock me," he muttered.

She put a hand on his shoulder to steady him. "What is this job?"

The prince let out a low sigh, embarrassed that he had allowed himself to lose control of his temper in her presence.

"Every year, the Silver Hand holds a recruitment session for youngsters who want to eventually join. There are training sessions for six months, and if they succeed, they can go into the pre-training program." He gritted his teeth. "I have to stand in a classroom in front of those little maggots while they insult me with their disinterest."

She raised an eyebrow. "You're training new recruits," she said, certain she had misunderstood. When he nodded, she murmured, "that sounds more like an honour than punishment to me."

He dropped his head. "They will be the death of me, Jaina. I don't have the patience to deal with children."

"Then maybe Lord Uther has assigned you the task because he thinks patience is a virtue you could stand to learn," she murmured. He didn't reply; she ran a hand across his back. "I don't always enjoy teaching my roommates, but it's the best way for me to learn what I need to brush up on myself. Besides, I love my art so much that I am honoured by the chance to pass it on to others so that they may have the chance to grow to love it as I have." She smiled. He sighed and shook his head, a wry smile on his face.

"You sound like Uther," he muttered, a bit amused.

"Lord Uther is a wise man," she replied softly. "And I'm sure he's done far worse things for his art than train new recruits." She smoothed the tangled hair from his temple with her hand. "When's your next class?"

"Tomorrow," he said, closing his eyes under her soft touch.

"Well, why don't you try giving them the chance to show you why they want to be a paladin? You will respect them more if you know their goals, and they'll respect you more for taking an interest in them."

He raised an eyebrow and turned to her, somewhere between irritation and amusement. "You should be teaching this class, not me."

"I haven't the faintest idea about the paladin arts," she replied, a hint of haughtiness in her voice. His lips lifted into a smirk at her teasing.

"You want to learn how to be a paladin, Jaina?"

"Definitely," grinned the woman. "Teach me, Brother Arthas." She moved so that she faced him, her legs folded beneath her. She rested her palms on her knees and sat upright, watching him with what she imagined to be an attentive expression. He couldn't help but laugh.

First he told her about the Holy Book that no one believed in anymore.

"You don't believe in the teachings of the Holy Book?" she asked, shocked. He shook his head.

"Not at all. Uther started reading it to me when I was a child, and I suppose I outgrew it the way one outgrows fairy tales." He regretted using those words the instant they were out. The Holy Book wasn't a fairy tale, and he did want to believe in it -- he truly did. Uther didn't know, of course; the news would break his heart.

A bit taken aback, Jaina asked him to continue.

Arthas moved so that he faced her; one of his legs stretched out on either side of her body, and he leaned forward to place his warm hands on her shins. He explained about the warrior side of being a paladin, and how it was wrong to kill, unless you were killing an infidel in the name of the Light -- he made sure to accentuate the irony of this law. Then he began to talk about the Light:

"I think it's something Uther made up just so we'd have something to study."

As he talked about the healing magics used by the paladins, Jaina studied his face. His tone and words showed disrespect for his art, but his eyes lit up to show that he ardently believed that it was worth it to commit the rest of his life to it. A smile tugged at the corner of her lips. The prince was truly a passionate man, no matter how hard he tried to sound indifferent.

When he stopped demeaning his art, she clapped her hands onto his knees and leaned forward.

"You sound like a devoted pupil, Prince Arthas," she teased. He laughed.

"Oh, I am," he assured her. "I just enjoy poking fun at it all."

"Poking fun or no," she said, "you've just taught me a lot about the basic points of paladinship." She added pointedly, "If I were a recruit, I would have learned something from you today. Humour is a good tool to use in the classroom-"

"Okay, okay," he interrupted, and he laughed again. "You can stop trying to be my mentor now, Jaina. I get your point." He chucked her under the chin; she blushed a little at the unexpected affection.

"You have a gorgeous smile," she murmured bashfully. It was a full smile that showed both sets white, straight teeth, and his cheeks gathered into dimples at the sides. Its boyishness contrasted sharply with his broad, manly features.

"Consider yourself lucky; you're one of the few who gets to see it," replied Arthas. Her shins were warm beneath his hands, and he slid one under the cuff of her pants. His heart began to beat a little faster as he tried to get over his shyness. Now would be a good time to ask her, before they got other activities underway. They had already slept together; why should this be so difficult?

"Well, I hope there are some other faces that only I get to see," replied Jaina. "I should be very jealous if they should be accessible to anyone else." One of her hands slid up to his thigh.

"There are many things of mine you get to see that no one else does," he said, his face suddenly solemn. "And I should like to share one of them with you now."

"Is it what I'm hoping it is?" she murmured, a bit shy again even though her hand was still roving blatantly for his groin.

"In a minute." The prince smiled and took her hand before it could reach its destination. "For now, you will have to make do with being the first woman -- ever -- to see me act shy and awkward." He cleared his throat. "Jaina, I will be inviting you and your roommates to a celebration next Friday. I wonder if you'd bestow upon me the honour of accompanying me personally."

"You're asking me to be your date?" she asked, surprised. He nodded, and the elusive blush tinged his cheeks again.

"I would be honoured," he added, bowing his head. It was strange to be this formal, especially when he was already so comfortable around the woman, but it seemed the only fitting way to ask for a first date.

Jaina sighed and looked down. "I don't know, Arthas," she murmured. "It's so soon..." A wince crossed her features as she thought of Kael.

The prince's stomach flipped at her expression

"So you do still have feelings for that bastard elf, then," he muttered.

"That's not the problem," said Jaina quickly. "I think...I mean..." She blushed. "I have fallen quite hard for you, Arthas," she whispered, her eyes focussed firmly on the ground. "But I have no wish for the kingdom to think me a whore who jumps into bed from prince to prince, nor do I wish for my roommates to hound me for juicy details about you. I'd rather keep us a secret for now."

The prince couldn't argue. The gossip during his last relationship had driven the woman from him before anything had really began. Besides, every time he set eyes on a woman, his father began to make diplomatic background checks and arrange gatherings to meet her parents. It would be nice to have a fun, unpressured relationship, the sort that normal people had. They would deal with everything else only when they were forced to.

"Very well," he said, and he raised her hand to kiss it. "I will invite you as a friend only, along with the rest of your roommates so as not to arouse suspicion." His thumb rubbed her hand. "But you should know that there will probably be dancing, and I won't be able to stand watching you dance with the likes of Syrius and other such womanizers."

"I can assure you the envy will be mutual," she murmured. "Perhaps..." She blushed. "Perhaps we can sneak out for a little bit that night? My roommates will probably stay until late into the night, so our house should be empty..." She trailed off, too embarrassed to continue.

"It would be nice to make love to you in an actual bed," he mused. His hand slid into her hair and he pulled her forward to plant a gentle kiss at her jaw.

"What's the occasion, anyway?" she wondered aloud.

"My birthday," replied the prince. He pressed his nose to hers. "How old are you, Jaina?"

"Twenty-two next Sunday," she said, surprised again by his gentle affection. She tried to focus her gaze, but their faces were so close that she could only see one giant turquoise eye hovering in her field of vision. She giggled softly.

"And I am twenty-three next Tuesday," said Arthas. "It's a good week to be born in, isn't it?" He rolled his nose along hers and kissed her cheek, then across to her ear. "I had no idea; I haven't the faintest idea what to get you," he whispered, and she shuddered at the heat of his breath.

"You're telling me," she said, her voice hissing slightly as he began to tug her earlobe with his teeth. "What on earth do you get a prince for a birthday present?"

"I need no present from you," he murmured, and he ran his tongue up the border of her ear.

"But maybe I can offer something anyway," she whispered.

He pulled back to look at her, an eyebrow raised as he tried to divine her intentions. The woman smiled timidly, her cheeks red. Her hand ran down the front of his chest as she pushed him away. She began to unbutton his shirt from the collar down, planting gentle kisses along the flesh that she gradually exposed.

"Jaina," he said suspiciously, "what are you doing?"

She was at his abdomen now, and showed no signs of stopping her path. Her lips had just reached his navel when he caught her chin with his fingers; she looked up, surprised.

"Jaina," he said; his voice cracked a bit. "Don't."

"Don't?" she repeated, certain she was hearing things.

"Please." The prince dropped his head, ashamed. "Don't."

Jaina sat back on her heels and her eyebrows pinched as she stared at the prince. He turned his head to look away and let out a low sigh, irritated and embarrassed.

"Arthas," she murmured, "did I do something to upset you?"

"I just...don't want that," he said, and anger began to rise to cover his humiliation. She rested her hands on her thighs and watched him, trying to discern the logic behind his words.

"Are you...ill?" she asked quietly. If he had been hiding a disease from her...

"Of course not," he replied, annoyed.

"A scar?" she guessed, though she hadn't noticed one the night before.

"No! There's nothing wrong with..." His jaw clenched and he dropped his head. "Let's not talk about it." Women usually had no problem obeying his wishes; why was she being so persistent?

Jaina still watched him, going through all the possible reasons in her mind. Her eyebrows rose as a thought occurred to her and a tiny smile spread across her face.

"You're afraid of showing pleasure, aren't you?" she murmured.

"I said, let's not talk about it!" he growled, cursing her in his mind.

"That's why you're so quiet during sex," she said, and she couldn't hide a chuckle. "You're too proud to let someone see that you're enjoying yourself. You think it's a weakness to lose control, and you know you'd lose control if anyone ever went down on you!" Where on earth had he gotten that idea?

Arthas dropped his face into his hand. "Jaina, stop."

She raised an eyebrow, amused by the extent of his vanity, and put her hands on his shoulders. Her lips pressed gently to the part down the centre of his scalp, then she pulled back.

"Arthas," she said softly. "I want you to enjoy yourself. I want to pleasure you, and I want to hear you pant my name, to hear you cry out in ecstasy. That is what lovers do. It makes the pleasure so much more intense for both of us."

He was silent; what could he say to his defense? There was no way to explain it without earning her disgust. Guilt welled in his stomach. Uther had always warned him that his playboy lifestyle would catch up with him...

Jaina sighed and pulled his hand away from his face, forcing him to look at her.

"Have you ever let a girl do this to you?" she asked.

Arthas shook his head no, miserable. He had -- once -- but it had been so long ago now that the incident had been wiped from his memory. Except for the aftermath, of course; he could never forget that.

"Just this once," she whispered. "Let go of your restraint and allow yourself to be pleasured. You won't regret it; I promise."

"Jaina-" he protested.

"Two minutes, then," she said. "Just one hundred and twenty seconds. If you have a pocket watch, we can time it."

"I don't," he said flatly.

"Then you can count in your head. If at the end of the two minutes you want me to stop, I will."

"You're incessant," he complained, but his jaw quivered. Curiosity was beginning to overwhelm his pride.

Jaina slid a hand down the front of his pants and grasped the soft, limp flesh. It began to pulsate beneath her grip, gradually hardening. Arthas watched her, his eyebrows peaked; any objections that had been on his lips faded as she began to gently pump him in her hand. Her palm was so warm, so soft, so delicate.

A smile tugged at her lips as she noticed that he was growing accustomed to the idea. Her free hand moved to his belt and she unhooked it, then unfastened the clasps holding the pants together. His erection sprang free; she continued to gently rock it in her palm. Her other hand slid up to his chest and she pushed him until his back pressed against the smooth rock. He rose onto his elbows and watched with growing curiosity as she tugged his pants partway down his thighs.

His breath caught in his throat as she suddenly bent to breathe a hot stream of air across his moist tip. Her mouth lowered so that he was a few inches inside, but not touching; heat radiated around him as her hand slid down to prop him upright. Arthas shuddered.

Then she pulled back; the night air was cold against his damp flesh. He groaned, frustrated.

"What time are we at?" she murmured, her face deadpan.

"I thought the two minutes started when you stopped teasing and actually made contact," he grumbled with playful irritation.

Jaina grinned. She dropped her head and pressed her tongue to the sensitive line in the fuzz behind his testicles. The warm, damp tongue traced a line around his front, up the shaft and to the tip of his cock, where it paused to trace the diameter of his head, then plunged back down again. She took one of the balls into her mouth and sucked gently. The sensation was odd, and he wasn't sure he liked it, but he missed the heat of her mouth the moment she stopped. The tongue traced lower, almost too low for his liking, then drifted back up again. Her lips pursed at the very tip and she gently suckled the forming bead of juices. The contact and suction, though slight, was unbearable; his hips rocked to force himself into her warm mouth. She pulled away from him, a hint of a smile on her lips. He let out a strangled cry to show how unfair the action was.

"Now, now," she murmured, staring haughtily into his heavily lidded eyes, "there's no hurry; we want your first time to be done properly, don't we?"

"If I didn't know better, Jaina," he said, his voice strained, "I'd say you were teasing me."

"If I didn't know better," she retorted, "I'd say you were enjoying it." She gave a sudden rough tug with her hand and he gasped, his eyes sliding shut.

"You're enjoying this...this power over me!" he accused softly, his breath coming in gasps. "You're going to amuse yourself by making me beg and plead because you know you've got me completely immobilized."

"I do believe you're paranoid, Prince Arthas," she murmured, and she bent to let out a warm breath of air. Enjoying the rasping breaths she heard in response, she trailed the breath along the shaft, then bent to kiss it.

"...but a little begging would be nice," she admitted, purring into the hard flesh.

"Not...a...chance..." He had to force the words around his jagged breaths.

Jaina's tongue wrapped around him, encircling him. He gritted his teeth, holding back a groan at the warmth. She slid the tongue upwards, then took his head into her mouth. He thrust; she pulled away to match the movement, keeping him at the same depth.

"Your mouth is so warm," he pleaded, a bit embarrassed by the desperation he heard in his voice.

She swirled her tongue around the head and then pressed it against the underside, raking gently along the delicate veins. Arthas let out a coarse breath of air and sank so that he lay flat against the cold, smooth stone. He tried unsuccessfully to restrain another thrust. Again, she kept him shallow, torturing him with the rasping, roving tongue.

"Jaina," he whispered, imploring.

She sensed this was the closest to begging she would hear, so she let out a pleased hum and slid down until he was as deep as she could take him. His juices mingled with those from her mouth and they trailed down to his base, deliciously hot. Arthas gasped. One of his hands rose to press to her cheek; he fought to restrain himself from gripping her hair and jerking her to him.

A groan threatened to slide from his throat, but now it no longer seemed important to hold it back, and he let it sound. The noise pleased her; her lips tightened and she sucked, gently at first, then harder as he let out another groan. She reflected that he liked a bit of pain, so she cautiously slid her teeth against the tender flesh, then smoothed the area with her tongue. Her experiment earned her a quick, euphoric cry, so she repeated the action. Then she began to slide her mouth up and down. Her hand, which until now was propping him up at the base, wrapped firmly around him and began to pump to match the movements of her mouth. He moaned and thrust into the warmth; this time, she didn't pull away. She swallowed, fighting her gag reflex as he pushed deep into her throat. The hand at her cheek was tightening.

Her free hand slid under his shirt and ran up his abdomen to his chest, then raked back down. It slid down his thigh, then its palm cupped his testicles as her fingers began to stroke along the sensitive fur behind them. They stroked harder, then two fingers pressed hard against the flesh, prodding to find the spot that would stimulate his gland from the outside. Warmth suddenly flooded his lower body and he gasped her name. His eyes were shut tightly now; his head lolled to the side, and his hands had drifted to tighten into grasping fists at his sides. A series of low groans reverberated in his throat in time with her strokes, and she began to echo them with moans of her own, deliberately vibrating him. Her fingers pressed harder and she tugged. He was taut in her mouth, and she tasted sweet, salty liquid.

"Jaina," he warned, his voice ragged, "I'm going to..." He trailed off with a groan as she eased her strokes and the pressure of her fingers. After a moment, she bore into him again, returning him intently to the edge. She backed off a second time and he let out a soft grunt, his head tossing; sweat beaded on his forehead.

Jaina closed her eyes, revelling in the unfamiliar power. Here, she was in control; he was completely at her whim. The proud, noble prince whimpered under her attention, stripped of all vanity and arrogance. His cries -- _her_ cries, for they were sounds that no one but her had ever heard -- jolted through her groin and massaged her depths, and her pants were drenched between her legs. She denied him orgasm again. His cock quivered between her lips as he sobbed her name; she shuddered, rapturous.

Then, supposing the game was wearing thin, she pressed her fingers harder into his flesh and pumped him so quickly that her forearm ached. His gasps grew louder, then he cried out as climax finally overtook him; Jaina greedily swallowed the warm liquid. As the last spurts left him, she slowed her movements, then, certain she had every last drop, gently released him from her mouth. He moaned and dutifully shifted his hips to allow her to refasten his pants; his eyes remained closed, and his upper body was limp.

When she moved to lay beside him, Arthas slid a hand into her hair and jerked her head to his chest. He held her there and gently stroked her soft hair with a shaky hand; she listened to his racing pulse gradually slow.

"Thank you," she whispered after a moment. She had never felt such control; sex was always something submissive, something to be taken from her with her permission. Her head was still light with the sadistic pleasure.

"Uther thinks I need to learn humility," rumbled Arthas. "I think you will be the one to teach it to me, Jaina." He felt a flush rise to his cheeks; was he really too bashful to thank her directly for what she had just done? Fortunately, when she lifted her head, he saw that she was just as shy. He ran a hand around the darkened cheeks, then urged her to move to lay beside him.

They shifted onto their sides, a bit uncomfortable with the hard rock beneath them, and he traced her nose with his fingertips. He was trying to think of a way to explain the emotions that were welling in his stomach, but she beat him to it.

"I'm sorry if I seem awkward," she whispered. "I guess it's because...it's because I've never felt this comfortable with anyone..." Her voice had a hint of fear in it, and he smiled, glad that he wasn't the only one who was overwhelmed.

"I know," he murmured. "It feels we've been together for years, instead of hours." It was a little frightening. His fingers trailed down to her lips and he hovered there, wondering if her mouth would taste unpleasant at all.

"You don't have to kiss me," she murmured, guessing his thoughts. "I won't be offended."

The prince tugged at her chin and pressed his lips to her cheek instead. Her scent wafted to his nostrils; he had already forgotten how good she smelled. He kissed across the cheek and to her mouth. It didn't taste much different then usual, so he explored it for awhile, running his tongue around her teeth, the roof of her mouth and her gums. It took him a few moments to realize that she was shivering; he pulled back, concerned.

"Are you okay, Jaina?" he asked, worried that she was getting ill.

"It's a little cold," she murmured.

"I'll get a blanket," said Arthas dutifully. He walked back to the horse and unrolled the flannel attached to the back of the saddle. It had been his intention to lay out the blanket before anything got started, but he had forgotten.

She helped him spread the blanket on the rock, and was about to lay down on it again when he caught her shoulder. He gathered her in a sudden, crushing hug.

"Thank you," he whispered, overwhelmed with gratitude.

He was already reviving between them; she pulled back a bit, surprised by his stamina. His hand slid along her cheek.

This kiss was rougher than the last, his teeth digging into her lips as his tongue slid deep into her mouth. She gasped for breath when he released her.

"I need to salvage my pride," he murmured. She blinked at the smirk building on his lips.

"Meaning?" Her knees began to quiver .

"Meaning that it's time for a role reversal. I am going to reduce you to a whimpering, begging, pleading little girl. In my own way." He grinned, his hand trailing down the front of her body. "And you had better believe I'm going to enjoy your helplessness as much as you enjoyed mine."

"When you say it, it sounds psychotic," she murmured; every hair on her body stood on end as he gazed intently at her.

"Just two minutes," he said. "You start counting."

 

 

It was more than an hour before their exhaustion finally outweighed their libidos. They lay naked, their bodies spooned together, cocooned by the warm flannel. Arthas planted soft kisses down her neck to her shoulder, too sleepy to keep up his earlier fervour. Jaina hugged his arms tightly to her chest. The muscles of her moist depths were twitching occasionally, like a thigh muscle after a day of hiking; it was a soft, comfortable feeling, a strong, slow heartbeat.

"We should probably be getting back," he murmured into her skin.

"Not yet. Please." Her eyes slipped closed. "I want to stay here all night." Her entire body was warm and light.

"I know." He bit gently into the flesh, and continued, his words muffled. "But if we stay here, I'll end up forcing myself on you yet again, and I don't think my body can take any more abuse." Her breath came in a hiss as he pressed his incisors together. After a moment he pulled back to examine his handiwork. "And I doubt yours can, either," he added, noting that most of the flesh of her shoulders and neck was speckled with bite marks. "I wonder if I can heal any of this?"

"Don't," murmured Jaina drowsily. "Every time they twinge, I think of you." She laughed dopily.

"You look like you have the mumps," muttered Arthas. He pressed his palm to her throat and focussed. His touch suddenly grew warm, and a faint yellow light illuminated his features. She hummed, revelling in the sensation.

"There," he said. The marks were fainter now, though the only ones that had really healed were the bites that had almost broken the surface.

"Aren't you going to heal yours?" she murmured groggily.

"I can't heal myself. Paladin magic doesn't work that way," he replied. His warm palm slid between her legs. "I seem to remember there are some marks I should be healing here, too."

"Leave them." She nestled back against his body. "I am so happy," she purred.

Arthas grinned. "You're drunk, Jaina."

"With your kisses." She tilted back her head and pressed her cheek to his. He closed his eyes and let out a contented sigh.

After a moment, he said, "I think my right leg has gone numb."

Jaina sat up; the blanket slid down to her waist. The night air was cold and humid against her skin. He propped himself up on an elbow and ran his hand along her rib cage to her hips; he loved that curve. The blonde looked down at him and grinned.

"Aren't you going to move your leg?" she asked.

"In a minute," murmured Arthas solemnly. His right foot was tingling, and the ache of his hipbone suggested that he would have a massive bruise in the morning to pay for the use of a rock as a mattress. He tried to ignore the pain, but eventually it nagged him too much and he sat up with an annoyed groan. His shirt was cold enough that it felt damp; he pulled it on, shivering a little. His hands rose to the buttons, but Jaina suddenly crouched before him and gripped his wrists with her hands.

"Let me do it," she whispered. She bent down and kissed his navel as her fingers worked at the bottom button; her kisses trailed up his abdomen to his chest, one button at a time, until she reached his collar. She left the top button undone and moved forward to sit on his lap, her kisses trailing up his neck. Her hands slid into his long hair, massaging his scalp.

"I think you should help me put on my pants next," he murmured; she laughed and pulled away to give him a playful tap on the nose.

"Sorry; shirt only. Can you imagine me helping you put on your boots?" She grimaced at the thought of kissing along his socks.

The image of her licking his boots was surprisingly arousing; he decided the cold night air must be getting to his head. His hands came to her hips and he lifted her off of his lap, then stood and pulled on his pants. She dressed, too, and realized that she had forgotten a cloak.

"Here," said Arthas, noticing her shivers; he extended the blanket, which he had draped around his shoulders. He pulled her tightly so that her back pressed to his front, wrapping the blanket snugly around them both.

"How on earth are we going to walk?" she wondered.

"Left foot first," he said, and he took a step forward. She giggled and stumbled.

"You really are drunk!" he said, shocked. "Here." She let out a shriek as he picked her up by her waist and began to run toward the horse. The exertion proved too much for his muscles, still weakened by the illness, so he set her down after a few steps.

"Too heavy for you?" she teased.

He shook his head, gasping for breath, and removed himself from the blanket. "Light as a feather," he puffed as he wrapped the flannel around her shoulders. His hand came to her lower back and he led her back to the horse. The steed was waiting somewhat impatiently; it gave them a cross look, its tail swishing to knock away the mosquitoes.

"Sorry, old boy," murmured Arthas. He patted the horse's neck, then turned and helped Jaina mount. He slid into the saddle behind her and let out a low call. The horse began to trot.

Jaina turned to look at him, insulted. "You can drive him without the reins?"

"Yes." Arthas kissed her temple, amused by her indignant stare.

"You were patronizing me by letting me drive him!" she accused.

"A little." He kissed her jaw.

"I get it," she said, feigning annoyance. "You 'let' the woman drive the horse, then you pretend to be wowed by her skill, and while she's flattered, you slip your hand down her pants."

"It worked, didn't it?" he murmured. "Except that I was too overwhelmed by you to remember to give the verbal commands to the horse." He kissed her neck. "Didn't foresee that problem."

"And just how many women have fallen for this ploy?" she asked with mock insult.

"Including you? One." He draped his arms over her shoulders, stretching his neck to rest his chin on her head.

"I don't know whether to be flattered or suspicious," she murmured; he chuckled.

Jaina watched the road ahead of them, content in Arthas' grasp. She closed her eyes. It would be so nice to lay in bed with him, to wake up in this soft embrace. Perhaps one day, she would know that happiness.

Arthas sighed suddenly. Guilt had been gnawing at his stomach for the entire evening; he had to tell her or it would consume him.

"The reason I'm afraid to show pleasure..." he began. She listened, patient. It took him a moment to work up the courage for his confession.

"Most of the times I've...been with a woman, Syrius has been in the same room," said the prince softly. "It isn't polite to grunt and groan and remind your best friend of your presence when he's trying to enjoy himself with other women."

He had been firmly lectured on it during the first night he and the lord had seduced a group of women together. They had been young lads at the time, probably about seventeen; their older friend from their swordsmanship classes had taken the two of them to the brothel (convincing Uther it was a training trip to the mountains) to learn how to be a man, or some other such nonsense. The night had been long, and Arthas had enjoyed himself far too vocally for Syrius' liking. It was the only time they had ever fought: testosterone coursing through their veins and high frustrations brought them to blows, until their older friend separated them. After that, they had drawn a crude pact: no oral, no anal, no anything other than flat, quick sex. Anything that could cause uncontrollable amounts of pleasure was prohibited in the presence of the other lest it be distracting. Arthas didn't really sleep around much outside of their joint womanizing, so the paranoia about being silent had carried over into his love life. Most women didn't seem to enjoy giving oral sex, anyway, so why should they be bothered by not being allowed to?

"Women," she echoed a few moments later, noting the plural. He couldn't read her tone, but assumed she was angry.

"Look, Jaina," he said. "Sharing women is common practice among the lords of the Capital City, okay? Sometimes four or more each in a night." He realized that he wasn't doing himself any favours by trying to explain it away. "It's a disgusting habit, and I have no urge to continue doing it," he muttered.

She kept her gaze straight ahead and pulled away from his body a bit. He wondered if it would have been best to let her think his paranoia was due to vanity.

"Really, I didn't do it a lot in the first place," he added hastily.

"How many woman have you been with?" she asked softly without turning to face him.

The prince hesitated. "Are you sure you want to know?"

"Yes." There was an edge to her voice. He hesitated again; she waited. The seconds stretched into minutes.

"Are you calculating the number?" she asked, surprised.

"I've never been good at maths," he murmured; his voice was heavy with shame. Jaina's stomach heaved.

"Maybe I don't want to know after all," she whispered. His body sagged slightly behind hers, and she realized he felt terrible. Though her first instinct was to express forgiveness, envy and disappointment rose in her throat and she heard herself say, "I can't imagine they've all been disease-free."

"I am fortunate to know a priest who specializes in illnesses of that nature," murmured Arthas.

"What about pregnancy?" she asked quietly, not at all encouraged by his response.

"Well..." He considered. "The servant girl who took my virginity was sent away because she got pregnant." He had forgotten about that.

"Really?" she asked. A thousand questions popped into her head, but she couldn't think of which one to ask first.

Arthas nodded. "Uther was furious at himself for not talking to me about the facts of life earlier. My father was getting his accountants to calculate what they'd need to pay off the woman. Fortunately, the babe was born with elf ears, so she couldn't claim it was mine."

She was silent. He moved his chin to rest it on her shoulder.

"Are you angry, Jaina?"

"A bit ill," she whispered. "I can't believe you'd treat women like that."

Arthas raised an eyebrow. "The women were always treated very well, Jaina. They were always willing parties -- most of the time, they propositioned me. Besides, I always made sure they enjoyed themselves as much as I did." He winced as he realized that this would not help his situation. "No, wait, that came out wrong. It's not like I enjoyed it...well, of course I did, but I mean..." He trailed off, then sighed and dropped his chin. So this was what humility was like. He didn't like it.

Jaina pulled away from him completely and let out a long sigh.

"Are you jealous?" he asked, unsure what was going on in her head.

"Of course I'm jealous!" she snapped. "All those women...surely one of them was better than me." Her voice cracked.

So that was the real issue.

"Jaina," he said, "you have me begging and whimpering like a babe, crying out your name with ecstasy, and then you're worried that I've had better lovers than you?" When she didn't reply, he sighed. "Look, it's not at all the same thing. Horny sex with random women is just sex, but when you're in love, it's-"

He stopped abruptly as he realized he'd used the word 'love' after only two days together. The nail in the coffin.

"Never mind," he whispered, certain he was never going to see her again.

They approached the town hall in silence. The woman's head was bowed, and her shoulders were tense. He brushed his nose against the back of her head and breathed in the scent of her hair, memorizing it one last time. Already he was trying to think of ways to redeem himself, but none were apparent.

The sound of boots on cobblestone made his head snap up and he stared suspiciously around. Jaina sank slightly into his arms, terrified by his sudden movements.

"What is it?" she whispered.

"Someone's out here," he replied under his breath, his eyes unable to adjust to the shadows. "I'd best drop you off near your house."

They stopped outside Jaina's neighbour's house. Arthas dismounted to help her unbind her staff from the saddle. They stood facing each other, a bit awkward.

"I'm sorry, Jaina," he whispered finally. She sighed, but wrapped her arms tightly around him.

"Don't be," she murmured. "The good and the bad, right?"

He hesitated. "Tomorrow night, then?"

"Please," she replied. She blushed, then whispered shyly, "You're right; it is different when you're in love." Her hand ran along his jaw.

Then she stepped back and swung her staff in a horizontal arc in front of her body. The ground beneath her glowed white and she disappeared. He stared at the empty space in front of him; her last words repeated over and over in his mind. Then he turned back to the horse, unsure whether his heart should be light or not.

 

 

Arthas rode back through the main square. Now he could see the silhouette of a tall, square man. He slowed the horse, trying to determine if there was any danger.

"Arthas?" It was Uther. The prince rode closer to his mentor and dismounted.

"Uther? What are you doing out here?"

The paladin sighed and smiled. "Having some trouble sleeping, so I thought I'd go do some research." A bit of a fib, but close enough. "And you?"

Arthas stumbled over what to say. Uther chuckled.

"Am I to assume that the cloaked figure you were with was Miss Proudmoore?"

Again, the prince sputtered. His mentor smiled.

"No one will hear anything from these lips," he promised. He clapped a hand on the prince's shoulder. "Congratulations, Arthas. I hope I will get the opportunity to meet her again soon. It has been far too many years since I saw her last."

"She infused the ice wand herself, you know," said the prince, finally able to work his mouth properly.

"Is that so?" Uther raised an eyebrow. "Now I very much want to meet her. Perhaps at the celebration. ...She is coming?" he added.

"Indeed, though under the pretense that she's a friend only." Arthas hoped she still was, anyway. He smiled politely. "I will tell her you're looking forward to meeting her." He began to lead his horse back to the castle; Uther fell into step beside him.

Once the horse had been handed to the stable boy, Arthas decided to accompany his mentor to the study and revise his lesson plans for the next day. Uther pushed open the door and lit the lamp. He turned to Arthas, and his eyes widened.

"Good Lord!" he exclaimed; it wasn't hard to figure out what had startled him; he stared wide-eyes at the prince's chin and throat.

"Is it bad?" asked Arthas sheepishly. "I'm afraid she's a bit of a biter."  
"And here I thought you had finally found a beautifully innocent and pure relationship," said Uther wryly. He waved his disciple over and put his fingers to the man's chin, lifting it to examine the marks. He eventually let it drop, then sighed and shook his head.

"I have a salve that can help," he said, defeated.

"A salve to help love bites?" exclaimed Arthas.

"Yes..." Uther looked a bit embarrassed. He hadn't mentioned it before because he didn't want to encourage the man's promiscuity. "I'll bring a pot for you tomorrow."

"And what would the leader of the paladins do with such a salve?" mused Arthas; the paladin chuckled.

"Believe me, lad: some things are best left unsaid." He pressed his hands to the boy's chin and closed his eyes; the hands glowed, and the smarting skin grew pleasantly warm. Uther pulled away.

"There," he said. "Now you won't have to answer awkward questions from your chipper young students tomorrow morning."

"About that," said Arthas. "I wonder if you might have a moment to give me some advice on my lesson plan?"

Uther raised his eyebrows, impressed that his disciple had actually taken the time to prepare a lesson. He sat beside the prince as Arthas leafed through the Holy Book.

"Jaina suggested I make the class more involving for the students," explained Arthas, and he repeated her idea of asking the recruits why they wanted to be paladins. He outlined some of their possible answers, then segued into the teachings of the Holy Book and the precepts of the Light. Uther's jaw dropped further and further as the prince talked. Arthas hadn't been this enthusiastic about his studies for several months, if not longer. When the prince had finished, the paladin put a hand on his shoulder.

"If this is what it takes to get you excited about the paladin arts, lad," he said, "I will prepare several pots of the salve and have them ready for you whenever you need them."

Arthas laughed: it was a clear, happy chuckle, one that Uther hadn't heard in a long time. It was unbelievable: Jaina had wiped away months of bitterness and irony in a matter of days. He smiled sadly; he knew what it was like to be in love this way.

"It sounds okay, then?" asked the prince.

"It sounds marvellous. I couldn't have organized a better lesson myself."

"Good." Arthas yawned. "I think I should get some sleep before tomorrow. Take care, Uther."

"You too, lad." Uther waited until the prince had left, then turned out the lamp and headed for the memorial gardens.

 

 

Despite his exhaustion, the prince lay awake for several hours, idly running his hand across his chest, his eyes closed. His mind replayed his last conversation with Jaina. What had he been thinking, confessing everything to her? What would she think of her prince now that she knew he had slept with whores and sluts, who had experienced most of his orgasms with his best friend in the same room? Would she ever look at him the same way?

Forty-seven, counting her. That was his best estimate, anyway; some of them had been a bit ambiguous through a drunken haze, and certainly a few had been repeats. Half of those had occurred in the two weeks after he turned eighteen, when he and the lord had ventured into Azeroth for a celebratory vacation; he wished he could strike that time from his past. Why had he let Syrius talk him into any of that in the first place?

Yes, it was different with Jaina. He had only been in love with three women before her; one love had been unrequited, one had used him for his status, and the other had left him because he had, in his youthful arrogance, cheated on her. None of them had moved him so much as Jaina. Perhaps it was the blonde's shyness that appealed to him; perhaps it was her surprising aggressiveness in bed. Perhaps it was the way she insisted on apologizing afterwards for her deep bites, even though she knew he enjoyed the pain. Or maybe it was that timid, twitching lip that started quivering the instant she saw him and didn't stop even when she fell asleep. He couldn't pin it down, but there was something there that made her more attractive, more spectacular than any woman he had ever known.

He wondered if he should tell her any of this, or if he would be unknowingly shovelling himself in deeper.

Jaina, too, found herself unable to sleep. She knew the prince's past loves shouldn't bother her. He was right; sharing women was commonplace among the lords, and not just in the Capital City. Even her own brother had often escorted convoys of women into his room with a few of his buddies, locking the door behind him. Besides, she had slept with her share of lovers -- six including Kael and Arthas, which was a high number for an unmarried woman of her social status. There was no reason why his past should bother her; he had given himself to her in a way that no-one had seen before, and it was quite clear that he was madly in love with her.

Perhaps that was what was really bothering her: the fact that they had, so quickly, fallen in love. Perhaps she was looking for any excuse to fall out of love with him.

She closed her eyes and envisioned the future. She would be in Dalaran studying; Arthas would be in the Capital City ruling his kingdom. How could they have a relationship when they would live more than a day's ride apart? There was no way she was sacrificing her dream of studying magic for any man, no matter how much she loved him. Presumably, Arthas felt the same way about his right to the throne.

There was no future for them as a couple. One day, this bliss they had found would end. Wouldn't it be easiest to end it soon, before they fell even more in love?

Not yet. She would deal with it soon, but not yet. For now, she would focus on the warm sting of the bites on her inner thighs and the memory of his tongue lapping gently at her ear. Unbearable rough, unbearably gentle. Arthas' love was a contradiction.

 

 

"You should see him; he's practically glowing." Uther smiled fondly. "I could see why. She's quite the pretty young thing, if I remember correctly, and very pleasant mannered. She's had a number of high-ranking suitors; poor Daelin was terribly afraid that she'd be married before she was even old enough to bear children." He chuckled, then grew somber. "I haven't seen her face-to-face for many years, of course. I do miss visiting Daelin; he closed himself off completely after Evela and Lorne's deaths." He hesitated. "I can't blame him; I suppose I don't have a better method of grieving. We each do it in our own harmful way." He looked down at the half-empty wine bottle in his hand. A sigh left his lips; he ran his fingertips across the marble before him in a faint caress.

"At any rate, you should be proud of him. I haven't seen him this happy since he was an infant, nor have I seen that passion in his eyes -- well, ever. I suppose he gets that from his father: once the spark has been lit, the light never dies." Another small chuckle sounded in his throat. "And I know he will love her deeply and treat her well, just as Terenas..." He trailed off; a tear slid down his cheek. He took another sip of wine. It was good wine, sweet and potent. Her favourite.

His fingers traced the engraving and he sang the words aloud in his slow, soft baritone. It sounded too brusque and rough against the memory of her thin, reedy alto; she had sung it several times so that he would remember it word for word. He repeated the last line:

_"'Only bloom will ye recall.'"_

He sighed and a tear trailed down his cheek. He didn't remember the bloom at all, just the wilt. The rot. His head bowed and he brought his hand to his forehead. He held a breath, then let it out slowly.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. His lips pressed quickly to the marble, then he stood and brushed off his robes. He shouldn't be mourning this day, anyway; he needed to learn to let go. He tilted the wine bottle and let the mahogany liquid drizzle on the marble.

"Happy Anniversary," he whispered. After a moment, he drained the rest of the liquid onto the stone. He was already tipsy as it was, and he had long ago sworn to abstain from alcohol. Might as well let her enjoy the rest of it.

"Let's hope his love story ends happier than ours did, eh?" he added softly.

His hand caressed the marble one last time, then he turned back to the castle.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	9. Book One - VIII

**VIII**

 

The next night, by an unspoken agreement, the new lovers didn't mention anything to do with their conversation the night before.

Arthas met Jaina at the town hall without his horse. He hung back, timid, until she stepped forward and pressed her hands to his chest.

"Aren't you going to kiss me?" she asked coyly. Arthas let out a breath, then gripped her jaw and bent down for a long kiss.

The prince gripped her hand led her to a small overhang on the roof of the castle; it was accessible through the back hedges, which meant that no-one would see her entering the grounds. The overhang provided a neat little balcony that was obscured by the walls from viewers above or below. The edge was lined with a two-foot wall, so there was no chance of accidentally dropping over it, much to Jaina's relief. The floor space was large enough that Arthas could stretch out on his back both lengthwise and widthwise.

Their first night there, the prince lay out the thick blanket on the floor and draped another on top to make a cozy bed space, then added the pillows and dropped his empty bag to the side. He turned and dragged the rope ladder up with them; she wondered how he had gotten it up there in the first place, but didn't ask.

"We can leave this up here," said Arthas. "You can teleport up and throw it down to me each night."

The woman sat on her heels and looked around, surprised at how quickly he had set everything up.

"Something tells me I'm not the first girl you've brought up here," she murmured.

"I lost my virginity here," said Arthas with a hint of sheepishness; he was uncomfortably aware that this was a delicate area of discussion. He sat down beside her.

"Ah, with the servant-girl who got pregnant. How old were you?" she wondered.

"I don't quite remember," he said honestly. "Fifteen, maybe? Sixteen?"

"I can't imagine you so young," she murmured.

"I was a tall, gangly thing; it was terrible." He chuckled. "My nose grew before the rest of my face and my voice didn't finish changing until I was nearly seventeen. Why the women still came to me, I'll never know." The prince hesitated, then ran his fingers along the bridge of his nose. "Actually, I'm not convinced I ever fully grew into my nose," he added, a bit self-conscious.

"Oh, stop that; you're handsome, and you know it." Jaina tapped his nose with a small smile, then lay down on the blanket and folded her arms behind her head; it was a clear night. She traced the constellations with her eyes and suddenly felt she was a young girl, watching the night sky at their summer home with her brother. It had been many years since his death, but she still missed him sometimes. She suddenly wondered if Arthas had any brothers or sisters.

"Well, what of you?" asked Arthas, and his hand ran across the woman's slender arm. "What of your virginity?"

"I was barely sixteen," murmured Jaina.

"Rather young for a noble lady," he chided; the blonde blushed.

"Yes, well, I've always been rather curious about...physical aspects of love," she said, avoiding his gaze. "I met a gentle man who was more than willing to satisfy my curiosity; we made love on the riverbanks in my father's property in Kul Tiras." She blushed, suddenly ashamed to be mentioning something so sacred she had shared with Kael in Arthas' presence. She wondered how the elven prince was faring since their separation.

"What a lucky man he must have been," whispered Arthas. He bent to kiss the back of her hand. Desperate to end the discussion, Jaina caught his chin and lunged to kiss his lips.

 

 

The new lovers continued to meet every night that week.

As their bodies grew exhausted with overuse, conversation took over. They chatted into the early hours of the morning, lying naked in one another's arms -- one night they were so involved in their discussion that it was dawn before they hurriedly sneaked down from their perch, afraid the townsfolk would notice Jaina leaving the castle grounds.

There was always something to discuss; though Arthas was passionate and a bit stubborn, he was more than willing to hear her viewpoints on religion and philosophy. She hadn't expected him to be so open-minded. Arthas, for his part, was surprised by the woman's in-depth knowledge of matters of religion. He recalled that Loti had once said that Jaina excelled at all areas of study, and that was no joke: the woman's knowledge of the Holy Book surpassed even his own, and she had formed many of her own interpretations about its passages and tales. The prince was humbled in her presence, though she was so respectful of his views that this humility was far from uncomfortable.

Though their long chats took a toll on their sleep-deprived bodies, they were happier than they had ever been before.

Especially Arthas.

The prince didn't realize quite how much his mood had improved until Thursday morning when he met with Syrius for their weekly swordsmanship training. The lord gawked at his friend, who strode into the courtyard whistling.

"Oh, no!" Syrius smacked his forehead melodramatically. "You're in love with her."

"With...?" asked Arthas casually. He withdrew his sword from his scabbard and balanced it in his hand, then tossed it and caught it by the hilt. He spun and thrust at the lord's torso, missing by a few inches. The lord folded his arms over his chest.

"This is serious, Arthas. You had her transferred here, didn't you?" Syrius paced around his friend and lifted the hair off of the prince's neck.

"Do you mind?" said Arthas, too happy to really care.

"More love bites." Syrius shook his head and continued to examine the prince, then stopped in front of him and peered at his face. "That smile. I haven't seen that smile since the day you finally got into the pants of that elven girl -- you know, the one who lived in Andorhal?"

Arthas realized that he had, in fact, been smiling, though it was because he had just realized that Syrius thought the prince was in love with the servant Molly. His friend's dimness was amazing.

"No wonder you've been ignoring my requests to go out prowling," lamented the lord. "Oh, Arthas, have you lost your pride?"

"It isn't what you think," the prince assured with a smirk, but Syrius paid no attention.

"You can't fall in love with a servant, Arthas! The kingdom would never stand for you marrying a scullery maid."

"Molly isn't a scullery maid," said the prince, feeling the need to rush to the poor woman's defense. He wasn't sure what 'scullery' was, exactly, but it sounded demeaning.

"You know what I mean." Syrius folded his arms over his chest. "What about Jaina Proudmoore? She's got status, wealth and breasts the size of her head. Molly has none of those things!"

Arthas laughed aloud at the description. "True, but Jaina has a lover already. I don't stand a chance." Breasts the size of her head; he would have to relay that to her. The blonde was beautiful with an embarrassed blush on her cheeks. He would kiss each glowing rouge circle and then press his hand to her breast, saying he needed to measure for himself, which would deepen her blush... His eyes glazed over.

"You're going to give up? Just like that?" Syrius stared. "The Arthas I know would never rest until something he set his eyes on was his!"

Arthas stared at nothing, a smile on his face. The lord sighed and gripped the man's arm.

"Okay, look; tomorrow night, you're going to dance with Jaina and sweep her off her feet." He raised an eyebrow, challenging the other to disagree.

"And if I don't?" asked Arthas, his voice a bit dreamy.

Syrius clapped his hands on his friend's shoulders. "Then we're going to the whore-house to help you remember what a _real_ woman feels like."

"A whore is better than a servant?" asked Arthas, honestly amazed at his friend's agenda.

"Yes," said Syrius firmly, "because no-one ever falls in love with a whore."

 

 

Kael sat at the oak table by the window in his room at Dalaran; his chin rested in one hand, and the other held a pipe. He had smoked two bowls of the tobacco already and showed no signs of slowing. Kalnaka had given him a pipe and her finest leaves the year before; he hadn't used it until now. The leaves were a bit stale, but still good. The taste of it reminded him of the taste of her lips. Of her tongue...

Four wine bottles sat on the table beside him, all empty. The elven prince wore only his tattered pajama bottoms, and his hair was tangled and matted. Between puffs of smoke, he sang a soft lullaby in Elvish, the words cracking occasionally with repressed sobs.

That was how Bolomina found him when she opened his door. The sorceress stared at her prince and hovered in the doorway, unsure if she should enter. Eventually she stepped forward.

"I hope your hand isn't down your pants, honey," she greeted in Elvish.

The prince turned to see the elf enter; the sorceress's long red-brown hair was in its characteristic shiny waves to her shoulders. She sported a red short-sleeved robe over a white blouse, and long black boots. She wore, as usual, make-up that suggested she was about to head out to the bar rather than head off to study: the fuchsia eye shadow was smudged around her eyes in a vague four-pointed star, and her lipstick was shiny and dark. He could smell the freesia of her perfume from across the room.

Kael blinked, then turned away. The window provided a view of the dusty hills surrounding Dalaran. The morning fog hadn't burnt off yet from the wetlands near the eastern horizon, and the sunlight filtered through it across the sand in a hazy light that made the hills look soft and welcoming. The prince had the sudden urge to dive through the window and fall into the distant hills. The words of the lullaby began to slide from his lips again.

"I didn't know you smoked." Mina slid into a seat beside the prince and tilted the wine bottles, examining the labels.

Kael ignored her, but stopped singing. He tried to blow a smoke ring; it broke apart in a blue-grey fog.

"Did you drink this all just now, sugar?" asked the sorceress gently, waving a wine bottle in front of his face. It hit the pipe, nearly knocking it from the mage's mouth; Kael grimaced and clutched at it with exaggerated drunken movements.

"Do you mind?" he muttered.

She watched the prince for a minute. "You missed the Council meeting."

Kael shrugged. Mina sighed and began to pick at her lacquered claws. They were red, to match her dress.

"Missing classes are one thing, honey, but-"

"Stop calling me 'honey!'" snapped Kael. "I am your prince; give me the respect I deserve!" A low growl left his throat as he took another puff from the pipe.

The sorceress stared. She had known the prince since they were toddlers, and he had never once flaunted his rank over her.

"Kael," she said calmly, "I know you like to brood, but get over it. This Jaina girl is just one woman. A human woman, at that. It would never work out; you'd be in the prime of your youth when she died an old hag." The sorceress raised a long, dark eyebrow to punctuate her words, even though she still stared at her fingers.

The prince fixed his bloodshot eyes on her. "Do you honestly think that makes me feel any better?" he growled, slipping in and out of Elvish.

"So, go to Kalnaka," said Mina. "That always makes you feel better." She finished examining her fingernails and set her hands on the desk.

Kael sighed and set the pipe down; he folded his arms over his chest. "I think it's best to end things with Kalnaka," he slurred. "She's getting too attached."

The sorceress began to laugh at the prince's obviously feigned bravado; Kael, no matter how hard he tried, could never pass as anything but a gentleman. The prince glared at her, then let his head fall so that his forehead rested against the table.

"Leave, Mina."

"So that's your problem," said the elf-woman once her laughter had finally faded. "You love them both, and you can't have either as your bride."

"I said, leave!" snapped the prince.

"One because she doesn't love you back, the other because she's a barren bastard child with whom you're trapped in some perverted 'only-when-I-can't-have-Jaina' sort of sexual partnership." Mina stood and fanned herself, shaking her head. "Sugar, you are amusing."

"I order you to leave!" snarled the prince.

The sorceress clapped a hand on his shoulder; Kael lifted his head to glare at her. His sneer was violent, and his eyes were white. She had never seen him so angry and, hence, was unable to resist teasing him further.

"You know, honey," she began, "I have this mental image of you begging the Lord Admiral to have another daughter now so that she'll be blossoming into a beautiful young lady around the time that Kalnaka and Jaina start to turn into old hags." Mina started to laugh again at his widening eyes. "You'll ask him to send word once she starts menstruating so you can snatch her right up--"

Kael knocked her hand away, whirled and stood; he pressed his nose to hers.

"Leave," he growled. His breath was smoky, and his eyes glowed so fiercely that the woman squinted.

"Calm down, sparky." Mina he pushed him gently back into his chair. "You aren't the first person to have his heart broken, you know." She folded her arms over her chest and eyed him, suppressing a smile. "Antonidas wants to see you. He's waiting for you in his study."

Kael swore and dropped his head. "Can't it wait?" He couldn't let the Archmage see him like this.

"You were planning on drinking and smoking yourself into even more of a stupor?" asked the sorceress. She picked up the pipe and emptied its contents into the ash tray before he could smoke the rest of it.

"Only until I work up the courage to hang myself," muttered the prince. His eyes dulled.

"You're pathetic." The sorceress jerked the chair out from under him; Kael fell to the floor with a loud yell. He slumped back to the cold stone and stared at the cobwebs in the rafters. After a moment, he began to sing the lullaby once more, his voice cracking.

"Pathetic," muttered the woman again. "Get dressed." She took his red silk robes down from the wardrobe and dropped them unceremoniously on his chest. Kael stopped singing and sat up, looking rather as if someone was dragging him by the wrists, and pulled the robes over his head.

"So, what set you off this time?" asked Mina. She knelt before him and tugged at the legs of his pajama bottoms. The prince swatted her away; the last thing he wanted was for his friend to undress him as if he were a child.

"It's Jaina's birthday in three days," mumbled Kael. He slid the pants out under the robes and struggled to stand. The sorceress caught his elbow as he began to sink back to the floor. It took him a moment to find his balance.

"How old is she, anyway?" asked Mina wryly as she began to comb through her prince's matted hair. "Twelve? Thirteen?"

"Get off my case; I told you, I didn't know she was so young!" snapped the prince, too drunk to realize that she was only teasing. "It's so hard to tell with human women!"

"I don't like you when you're inebriated," murmured the sorceress as she stood him before a mirror and ran the comb through his eyebrows. Kael stared at his reflection. The bags under his eyes were redder and more pronounced than usual, and his eyes barely glowed at all. Surely the Archmage would notice his state, no matter how well Mina tried to disguise it. Despair began to build in his stomach.

"Can you walk, hon?" asked Mina, and she stepped back. The prince took a wavering step and stumbled. He sank to his knees and his jaw quivered, then he began to weep into his hands.

Mina sighed; she crouched and put a hand on his shoulder. "You really are pathetic." Despite the harsh words, her voice was gentle. She wiped the tears from his face, then looped her arm through his to help him stand. "Come on, sugar. Let's go."

 

 

"Ah. Prince Kael." The Archmage Antonidas was slightly stooped with age, but still had an aura of power about him. His beard was long, white and trailed to the centre of his chest; his robes were white and flowing. He leaned a bit on his staff for support. "Please. Have a seat."

Mina helped the prince to a seat on the bench in front of the Archmage's enormous ebony desk, then excused herself and left to wait outside the room. Kael watched the door close behind her and wished she'd stayed for support. He bowed his chin before his master, hoping that his cheeks weren't still tearstained.

"We missed you in Council this morning," said Antonidas. "I noticed you missed most of your classes this week, too." There was a note of impatience in his voice. Kael swallowed.

"Sorry, Master. It won't happen again." His voice was whistling more than usual; he wondered if the Archmage noticed.

"I expect it won't." Antonidas raised his chin and called for Mina. She entered and sat on the bench beside Kael.

"You should hear this too, Bolomina, in case he forgets when he sobers up." The Archmage didn't bother to hide the sarcastic tone.

Kael's cheeks flushed with shame.

"He's going through a rough time, Master," said the sorceress. The prince sneered, annoyed that his friend would apologize for him.

"I see that," said Antonidas. "However, he has a reputation as a well-respected member of the Council to uphold, and appearing in public in _this_ state-"

"Stop talking about me as if I'm not here," slurred Kael before he could stop himself. He bit the inside of his cheek and his gaze dropped as the Archmage gave him a disapproving glare.

"Sorry, Master," said the prince with convincing honesty.

Antonidas sighed as he stared at the top of the elf's head; his face softened. He had known Kael for more than a decade, and had never once seen him drunk. This was obviously an exceptional circumstance. The Archmage folded his hands on the desk in front of him.

"Priestess Of Quel'Thalas has sent word, Kael. She wants to see you at once." Antonidas raised a fluffy white eyebrow. "I have arranged for you to have two days off to return to Quel'Thalas. You are to make up the classes you missed, of course, and I expect to see you in Council every session next week."

"Thank you, Master," murmured Kael. His head was still bowed.

Antonidas leaned forward and shot his student a pointed look. "Presumably, you'll straighten out your little problems while you're gone, so you can be professional again upon you return."

"Yes, Master," said the prince; his voice cracked with disgrace.

Mina let out a silent sigh and folded her arms over her chest. The prince was too much of a pushover around authority figures; it always pained her to see him grovel. He needed to be more like his brother. Eldin wouldn't take condescension from anyone, and he was a lot happier for it.

"Very well," said Antonidas. "Dismissed."

Mina reached out a hand to help the prince; Kael batted it away and staggered to the door. He stormed through it; the instant he was outside, he dropped his face into his hands. The sorceress sighed and closed the door, then slid her arm over his shoulders.

"Don't feel bad, hon," she said. "You kow-tow to him far too much; it's good to hear you talk back to him for once. I wish you hadn't taken it back. He'd respect you more if you spoke out now and then." She rubbed between his shoulder blades. "You need to learn to stand up for yourself."

Kael looked at her with bleary eyes; what point was there in standing up for himself when he didn't know what he wanted?

"Kael?" asked the sorceress, concerned by his silence.

The prince sighed. "I think I will leave for Quel'Thalas now, Mina." He'd sober up on the way. He hesitated, then added, "Thank you." It wasn't often that the woman tried to cheer him up, and he did appreciate the effort.

The sorceress gave him a quick kiss to the cheek. "Say hello to Eldin for me, sugar," she said, then she left him to prepare.

 

 

Kael's spirit calmed greatly as he entered the magical forests of Quel'Thalas that evening. There was something about the land that brought him a great internal peace, and he closed his eyes. The evening was unnaturally silent -- it always was in the borderlands -- save for the horse's gentle breaths and footsteps. A smile tugged at his lips for the first time since Jaina had left him. Perhaps his family was right; he did spend far too much time abroad.

He was met at the gate to Silvermoon by the elven ranger Sylvanas Windrunner, dressed in her brilliant green cloak and sporting an enormous longbow. The petite woman bowed and smiled as she greeted him. She was only a year older than him, and they had spent many years as schoolmates; she had been the one to teach him archery in his youth. Kael was pleased that she had been promoted to ranger: she was a bright, brave young thing. One day, when he was old enough and wise enough to rule Quel'Thalas, she would be his personal bodyguard.

Kael raised an eyebrow as he noted the fresh green tattoos on the woman's arms. The Reda'nas coming-of-age ritual was performed during the five-hundredth full moon after birth; he had forgotten that she was already old enough. Sylvanas noticed him eyeing the tattoos.

"It doesn't hurt too much anymore," she assured him, "though the ink burns a lot at first." The woman slowly raised her cropped shirt so that he could see the network of swirls and leaves tattooed across her round breasts. It always amused Kael to come back to liberal Quel'Thalas after living among the conservative humans for so long.

"I was the first to be discharged," said the ranger proudly. "The priest said he'd never seen anyone heal so quickly." After a moment, she tucked the shirt back into her robes.

"Congratulations, Sylvanas." Kael smiled. He was nervous about the ritual himself; the princes of Quel'Thalas bore the highest honour ink, a red-gold stain that was made from the fire berries of the north. It was the most painful of the inks. He had the urge to ask for a small tattoo, but he would be expected to get the full-body tattoos like his brethren. Most elves looked forward to the ritual; Kael awaited it with trepidation.

The ranger led him through the inner gate and to the Priestess' chambers.

"Do you know what this is about?" asked Kael a bit nervously. He hadn't been into the Priestess' chambers since the year his parents had died, when he and his younger brother were called in to perform the cremation ritual.

"Not sure." Sylvanas smiled and bowed. "I'm sure it's nothing terrible. Good luck, Prince Kael."

Kael stepped through the door; wooden chimes on the back of it announced his approach. He jumped.

"Prince Kael'thas." Priestess Of Quel'Thalas stood and bowed as he entered. She was a tall woman with flowing white-blonde hair and sharp, ageless features. "I'm glad you could come. Please, have a seat."

The room hadn't changed since he'd last seen it. The walls were adorned with crystals, each of different sizes and powers. A small burner kept heavy joss-sticks alight; their odour was sweet and heady. The floor was carpetted with bearskins; according to legend, they were of four bears who had sacrificed themselves to save the Sunwell from fire several hundred years earlier. Kael slid off his boots and walked barefoot on the skins, placing his feet carefully so as not to disturb them.

The chair was carved of a deep red cedar, and was shaped to resemble its original twisted, branched form. Kael slid into it; the wood was soft against his bare arms.

"I'm sorry to call you here on such short notice, Prince Kael'thas." The Priestess' voice was so deep and strong that Kael kept his head bowed, afraid to look at her. "I trust your travels weren't too strenuous."

"Not at all," said Kael, although he had struggled to teleport himself and the horse while still drunk. The distance from Dalaran to Quel'Thalas was at least a good two days by horse, but teleporting part way cut that figure in half.

"Good," said the Priestess. "I was going to wait until your Reda'nas for this meeting, but a foul wind blows from the frozen north. It is an ill omen, and we must do everything we can to ensure that Quel'Thalas is protected."

Kael's heart beat in his throat. A foul wind from the frozen north? He thought of the dreams that had been plaguing him lately, of a tall frozen spire jutting over a deep green sea. He was going to mention it, but she continued.

"It is time for you to learn about your birthright, Prince Kael'thas. The true birthright of the Quel'Dorei." The Priestess sat regally before him; the prince kept his head bowed.

"More than ten thousand years ago," she began, "before men inhabited the world of Azeroth, there lived an elven race called the Kaldorei. This race settled around the Well of Eternity, a lake that was the heart of the world's magic and power. Through the Well, they became immortal and intelligent beings adept at the ways of magic.

"Queen Azshara began to favour a group of tireless servitors who she called the Quel'Dorei: the high-borne. At her request, this group of elves began to explore the magics of the Well of Eternity. Their dedication was admirable, but magic comes at a price. Their experiments disturbed the Well of Eternity and poured through it, sending feelers of magic into the Great Dark Beyond. These feelers were sensed by Sargeras, a great demonic being who lived only to crush kingdoms and absorb their energies. He loosed his demonic army, the Burning Legion, on Azeroth."

"The Sundering of the World," said Kael. He had heard of it before, but had never known how it had come about.

"Well, nearly; this is the event that led to the Sundering." The Priestess nodded, a bit startled by his interruption. "Though the Legion was defeated, it was at great cost to the world: that is what you know as the Sundering." She pressed on before the prince could ask questions; he didn't need to know the specifics. "Once order was restored, the druid Malfurion Stormrage prohibited any use of magic, lest the attention of Sargeras be attracted again. The penalty for the use of magic was death."

Kael began to interrupt, but the Priestess silenced him. She had forgotten how inquisitive the Sunstriders were.

"The Quel'Dorei were furious about this restriction. They theorized that the elves needed to have command of magic lest another attack occur. Their leader, the great Dath'Remar Sunstrider -- yes, your ancestor, Prince Kael'thas -- finally devised a brilliant plan: if all the Quel'Dorei were to use their magic at once in one massive protest, Malfurion surely wouldn't dare to execute them all."

The idea didn't seem very brilliant to Kael -- indeed, it seemed rather childish -- but the Priestess seemed to be annoyed that he kept asking questions, so he kept his mouth shut.

"Dath'Remar and his followers set loose a massive magical storm over the land," continued the woman. "Malfurion, as predicted, couldn't bear to execute every last one of them, so he exiled them instead. They came across the seas to this very place, and founded the kingdom of Quel'Thalas. They created the Sunwell, which they infused with the magic waters of the Well of Eternity. Though not as powerful as the Well, it still extends our lifespan somewhat and gives us access to magic. That is why we must never stray too far from it for long; without its powers, our bodies would have the same life-spans as men. We would fall ill and die within a century, as they do."

"But what does this have to do with me?" asked Kael, a little overwhelmed -- and, truth be told, a little bored. He had never been good at processing information aurally; if he wanted to learn something, he would much rather read about it.

"In time, my Prince, we began to believe that perhaps Malfurion might be correct. Though the Sunwell is not as powerful as the Well of Eternity, it still connects us with the Great Dark Beyond. We cannot take the chance that they might return. So, we reduced our magics to the simple ice spells that the Kirin Tor use today, as these magics do not draw on the Sunwell's powers. They are simple, basic spells, and I hear that you have mastered every single one of them."

"Nearly," said Kael modestly.

The Priestess leaned forward in her chair. "There is trouble brewing in the frozen north, Prince Kael'thas. The ice spells you have learned will not be enough to defeat our enemies should another invasion take place. If we want to defend Quel'Thalas, we must relearn the powerful magics, the ones that draw from the power of the Sunwell."

Kael's brows furrowed. "Isn't that a bit dangerous?"

"Only as a last resort, Prince Kael'thas. If the world is going to die anyway, there is no point in worrying about attracting a demon's attention." The Priestess set a book on the table before him. The prince ran his hands across the red leather cover. The tome was nearly as thick as his wrist.

"This is the journal of Dath'Remar," said the elf-woman. "Inside is every spell the Quel'Dorei have ever possessed."

Kael put his hand to the book, intending to open it. A pulse of magic flooded from the cover and into his fingers; the prince jerked away and let out a hiss. He swore under his breath and sucked on the fingers that had received the jolt.

"It is sealed," said the woman unnecessarily. "This book contains the magic of the Burning Legion, which the Quel'Dorei sought to master after the Great Sundering. It is highly addictive and unbelievably powerful. Many elves have gone mad with the ecstasy of the fires of the Sunwell coursing through their veins. That is why it must remain under lock and key until it is needed by our people."

Kael's brows furrowed. "But how will I open it when we need to?"

Priestess Of Quel'Thalas didn't answer; she pressed both hands to the book and slid it closer to him. "The blood of the high-borne is your birthright, Prince Kael'thas, and this is the gift Dath'Remar has left for your line." She looked away. "You are dismissed. Have a safe trip back to Dalaran; we look forward to your return to Quel'Thalas."

The prince stared for a minute longer. He touched a tentative claw to the book; when it didn't hurt him, he clutched it to his chest and moved quickly to the door.

 

 

Kael had a delicious feast that night with his brother Eldin and his aunt, uncle and four cousins. Eldin, of course, was silent; he despised their relatives. The aunt and uncle made a fuss about how much the princes resembled their late father. The young cousins ran around screaming. Eventually, Kael could stand the ruckus no more; he drained a last glass of wine, then excused himself to get some rest.

The prince's room hadn't changed since his childhood; it was a source of calm and stability for him, and he refused to let anyone remodel it. Kael lit the lamp and gazed around. The wall was painted to look like a forest, the ceiling with stars. His mother had painted it while she was carrying him. His bound cedar bed was made just as he used to leave it, with three pillows piled neatly atop one another. It looked comfortable and inviting; perhaps tonight he would finally have a sound sleep.

The book that the Priestess had given him sat closed on the cedar desk. The prince looked at it for a moment, then sat down and ran his fingers across its cover.

"Couldn't stand the din either, brother?"

Kael turned to see Eldin enter; his younger brother slid to a seat on the bed. Kael hadn't seen Eldin in a few years -- the younger had trained as a priest and so had been in the convent for some time. Now, he really had grown into a spitting image of their father. His nose was blunter than Kael's, his sneer was softer, and he was nearly a full two inches taller. His honey-tinted hair was neatly trimmed to just below his shoulders, whereas the elder preferred to let his wheaten hair grow wild. Eldin's voice was deeper, and as he leaned forward, Kael noted that the man now had glowing green irises, presumably as a side effect from the priests' magics he used. The man had also inherited their father's quick temper, and Kael was always a bit wary around him.

"How's Mina?" asked the younger casually. Kael sighed; he still shuddered at the thought of his friend and his brother together. While Eldin and Mina had been a couple, the sorceress had made a point of sharing far too many details with Kael just to rile him. He had been pleased when the unlikely affair had ended, though it was evident that both parties were still interested.

"Same as always," murmured Kael. "Rude, obnoxious, and more obsessed with her appearance than with the magic arts." His top lip curled into a playful sneer. "If she calls me 'honey' one more time..."

Eldin chuckled. "Good. I should be sad if she had changed."

"I shouldn't," said Kael lightly. He noticed that his brother now stared fixedly at the book; he quickly tried to shelter it with his arm.

"Is that why Of Quel'Thalas wanted to see you?" asked Eldin, nudging his nose in the direction of the tome. There was some hurt in his voice; he had always been jealous that the members of the Council treated Kael differently because he was to be the leader of their people. Eldin didn't like to be left out.

"Uh, yes; I suppose so." Kael tried to move the book aside, but in his haste he knocked the cover open. A jolt of magic shot through him; the tome slammed shut again. The elf cursed and gripped his smarting hand.

"What the hell was that?" Eldin moved closer and gripped his brother's hands in his own. He closed his eyes and began to murmur a priest's prayer. Kael let out a deep breath as the pain fled from his body. When the other released him, Kael thanked him and pulled his hands away. Eldin, meanwhile, pondered the magic that he had dispelled from his brother's body.

"That was priest's magic," said Eldin, surprised. "Why should the Priestess want to hurt you, brother?"

Kael recognized that he had no choice but to relay the conversation with the Priestess. He hated to remind his brother of his superior rank, and he expected the other to be jealous of the responsibility that had been entrusted to him. Eldin's eyes, however, lit up, and he halted Kael before he had even finished.

"The journal of the great Dath'Remar?" Eldin ran his hand across the cover and closed his eyes, his lips parted. "They say he is the greatest wizard who ever lived." When he opened his eyes, they glowed white. "I am going to train to be a mage," he said, "and I will master these secrets and become the greatest sorcerer ever. Imagine the respect I'll command then!"

His brother's obsessive fervour would have ruffled Kael if he wasn't already accustomed to it. Eldin had something of a spontaneous personality and constantly blurted out wild plans and schemes. The only ones he had ever followed through with were asking Mina out and training to be a priest. Their mother had jokingly called it "borderline insanity," and sometimes Kael wondered if that hadn't been an accurate diagnosis.

The brothers stared at each other. Eldin noted his brother's straight brows and unimpressed demeanour, and the crazed white glow from his own eyes faded once more into a gentle green.

"Well, let's open it. You have wizard's magic; I have priest's magic. What other magics do our people possess?" Eldin traced an unpainted claw along the spine as he sensed the seal.

"I don't think that's a good idea," muttered Kael.

"I don't believe this," exclaimed the other. "She used one of the easiest holy ward spells. Didn't she think you'd show the book to me?"

Kael hadn't planned to, but said nothing. He wondered if he should halt his brother, or if that would just provoke him to further madness.

Eldin closed his eyes and placed both palms on the tome. There was a quick flash of green around its border.

"There."

"That's it?" asked Kael, surprised. Why would the Priestess go to the lengths of sealing the book with a simple spell that his brother could dispel in seconds?

Eldin hooked a claw on the cover, and flipped the cover, jerking away before anything could harm him. The cover lay flat, the first page covered beneath a silk inlay.

The brothers looked at each other.

"We aren't supposed to use it except in extreme emergency," said Kael, panic rising in his throat.

Eldin scoffed. "How will you know how to use the spells if you don't practice first?" He shook his head. "Really, brother, you need to learn to be a little more selfish if you want to be an effective leader."

Kael didn't follow his brother's logic; his throat tightened as Eldin flipped through the pages. He needn't have worried, for the pages were blank.

"Why isn't there anything here?" asked the younger, frustrated, as he flipped through the entire volume. He lifted a caramel brow to gaze pointedly at his older brother. "She must have known both of us would be here, so the words must be hidden by sorcerer's magic."

Kael sighed.

"Sense it," growled Eldin.

The elder gazed at his brother for a moment, then half-heartedly waved a hand over the pages. Eldin gripped the other's wrist and forced his hand flat against the paper. Kael gasped and jerked away.

"Are you insane?" he snapped. "These are powerful magics! You can't just force me closer-"

"So? What did you figure out?" interrupted Eldin. His brother sighed and massaged his tender wrist.

"The words are consolidated by a fire bolt," muttered Kael, "but something has to trigger it. I'm not sure what that something is." He hoped his tone was convincing.

"Perhaps the waters of the Sunwell?" The other rustled in the pockets of his black priests' robes and pulled out a small vial. The water inside it glowed faintly.

"Eldin!" cried Kael. "Where did you-"

"You wouldn't believe how revitalizing the waters are after a hard day of studying," said the other. He shot his brother a pointed look and Kael closed his mouth. Eldin had a nasty temper, and was more than a stone heavier; the elder wasn't about to argue with him, even if stealing water from the Sunwell meant he had defiled the sacred pool.

Eldin splashed the water on the page. "There," he said. "Cast fire bolt."

Kael sighed. "If there was anything written there, it's smeared now. Now you want me to risk burning the book because you have some half-baked theory-"

"Oh, stop bleating." If he wanted it done right, he'd have to do it himself. Eldin pressed his hands together; a spark of flame gathered between them into a ball. His brother stared at the forming bolt.

"Where the hell-"

"I read a few of Mina's spell books when I saw her last," said Eldin dismissively. "I think I'm a natural." He sent the bolt at the page; the tome lit into a fire three feet tall.

Kael cried out and frantically summoned a water elemental to douse the flames. The being had barely formed when Eldin snapped his fingers; the elemental fell to a puddle on the floor.

Kael froze, then took a step backwards.

Eldin didn't notice; he stared earnestly at the blazing volume. When the flames at last died, the book was still intact. He leaned over it.

"Damnit," he muttered; the other took this to mean that the words hadn't appeared.

"She said it could only be used in emergency," said Kael; his voice trembled. "Perhaps it's only activated by the presence of a demon."

Eldin sighed. "Well, if you figure it out, let me know." He stretched his back, then cracked his knuckles in front of himself. "When do you leave for Dalaran?"

"Dawn." The initial shock of his brother's attitude wore off, and now Kael was growing angry.

"Then I shall write a letter for you to bring to Mina." Eldin smiled, surprisingly calm. "Goodnight, brother." He drifted from the room. Kael stared after him, then stood and closed the door, moving the latch into place. Some days, he didn't trust his brother.

He slid back into the chair and stared at the book. Now he had a dilemma. He had sensed exactly what was needed to make the words materialize, and his curiosity was overwhelming him, but he had sworn not to access the spells except in emergency.

But had he sworn? The Priestess hadn't asked him to promise anything. She had simply ordered him not to access the spells, assuming he would obey. Good old dependable Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider could be counted on to mind his seniors.

The more he thought about it, the angrier he became. The Priestess. Antonidas. Arthas. Even his own brother, with his demands that they open the book. They all thought Kael was incapable of making his own decisions, and thus would follow theirs. How dare they patronize him?

The prince's sneer curled into a grin as, for the first time ever, a streak of rebellion ran through his body.

The hunting knife was still in a maroon velvet pouch under his mattress. Kael pulled it free. The blade was curved and the blood channel was engraved with the Sunstrider name in delicate Thalassian script. It wasn't a practical design, but he rarely hunted with steel weapons, anyway; he preferred magics or bow and arrow.

Now the prince sat at the desk and pressed the flat of the blade against his forearm to steady himself; the steel was deliciously cold. His breath rasped in his throat as he stared at the contact. The hand that gripped the hilt quivered.

The first slice didn't even break the surface. Kael gasped for breath and pressed the flat against the skin once more. He had forgotten how dull the knife was; perhaps he should be using an arrowhead instead. The skin around the knife began to turn white with the pressure.

Once he was calm, he took a deeper slash at the skin. Crimson liquid flooded to the surface in a perfectly straight line. Kael lowered the blade to the desk and stared. There was very little pain -- the cut wasn't deep -- and for a moment he was overcome by the beauty of the colour: pure, rich crimson. There wasn't much, and it began to coagulate almost immediately. Remembering himself, Kael tipped his arm and ran his finger along the cut, gathering the small amount of fluid into one drop on the tip of his claw.

"The blood of the high-borne is my birthright," he murmured as he flicked the drop. The ruby liquid hit the centre of the page and seeped into a tiny circle that began to spread. It sent out strands like a spider's web to each corner, then other fibres began to form in-between.

The entire page was now crimson. Kael clenched his hands and summoned the fire bolt. It hit the page and died immediately, as if absorbed by it; glowing words began to form on the red parchment.

_The journal of Dath'Remar, High Leader of the Quel'Dorei._

Once the text had been traced entirely by the fire, the parchment faded to its previous yellowed colour, and the words set into a bold black. Kael ran his claws along the script. His fingers found his way to the edge of the page, then he flipped it open and began to read.

 

 

It was clear that Dath'Remar had quite the ego. The first fifty pages were about his life, and the embellishments were clear even to his descendant who, ten-thousand years later, knew nothing of the history. There were several pictures -- the man had been quite the painter -- and Kael skimmed through the droning text to stare at them instead. The pictures of the lands of Kalimdor fascinated him; they were wild lands, with greens so vivid that they seemed alight. He was surprised to recognize the landscape of a few of the paintings, though he wasn't sure why or how.

There was a picture of a Kaldorei with massive shoulders and a broad chest. His eyes were blindfolded, and his flowing hair was neatly sectioned, with the top half tied in a high ponytail. Kael ran his fingers across the picture.

"Illidan," he whispered. He turned the page to discover that the elf was, indeed, named Illidan; he was a demon hunter, a fellow magic user, and a great friend of Dath'Remar.

Kael began to tremble.

The picture of Dath'Remar was the most odd of the lot. The elf seemed to tower from the page; his limbs were long and his muscles wiry. His skin was a dusky purple hue, and his hair was a deep blue-green and spilled wildly about his shoulders. His nose was long and pointed and his sneer was so familiar that Kael brought his fingers to his lips. Indeed, looking at the picture was rather like looking into a mirror. It made no sense that, ten-thousand years down the line, he should look exactly the same save for the skin and hair colour.

Perhaps there was a reason.

The next page described Dath'Remar's Reda'nas. The tattoos were diagrammed in great detail -- presumably, Dath'Remar had shown the diagrams to the Reda'nas artist. There was one separate, wide tattoo that coiled around the left leg, then three segments that met in a spiralled junction between the shoulder blades. The first segment was a broad band that looped around the right shoulder and back to the junction. The second was a small strand that curved slowly around the left bicep and ended mid-forearm. The third dropped between the butt cheeks and ran across the perineum, where it split into two bands that wrapped around the testicles into flames across the abdomen, and another band that went right across the scrotum to the inner thigh, then trailed lazily around the leg to mid-calf. Kael stared at the diagrams. Tattoos on the scrotum? He crossed his legs and shifted them against the imagined pain. Dath'Remar was truly a brave man -- or perhaps foolhardy.

The spells that the Priestess had been talking about began about a quarter of the way through the book, headed simply by "Magicks Explored for Queen Azshara." As Kael flipped through the pages, he recognized the spell titles, and as he read through them, they surfaced from his memory as if they were forgotten details from his childhood. They were mostly fire spells; he was certain that they were demon magic. Though he knew this should bother him, there seemed no point to worry -- he was the only one who had access to this book, and he had no intention to use any of them anytime soon.

His curiosity was piqued by a page that bore a fire pillar spell that Dath'Remar called 'flame strike.' The spell summoned a pillar of flame from the ground, leaving the ground beneath it smouldering for nearly twenty minutes afterwards. Kael traced the spidery writing with his fingernail. The words were familiar, and the blood began to burn within his veins. He closed his eyes.

Yes, he remembered this sensation, though he had never felt it before. The warmth of his hands as he summoned fire to scorch his enemies. The blistering heat of his mouth as the demonic words poured from it. The smell of burning flesh and soil. The euphoric tingling of his limbs as the powers of the Well coursed through them.

As his eyes opened they glowed a fierce white.

Only in an emergency. Still, he had to first make certain the spells worked, didn't he? What use would they be to his people if he couldn't actually perform the magic?

He strode to his bags and grabbed his mana orbs from their red velvet sack. He threw them into the air one at a time and focussed his magical energies on them so that they orbitted his body. When the third was in orbit, he closed his eyes and teleported from the room.

It was a few minutes before he was far enough from Silvermoon to avoid detection. There was a small field that had been recently burnt for aeration a few weeks earlier; perfect. His breath came in trembling gasps as he braced his feet as far as his constrictive red robes would allow him and held out his arms.

The prince began to chant. The words flew easily from his lips; yes, this was familiar now. His hands glowed, and he rocked first to one side, then the other, as the spell streamed from his mouth.

The ground began to glow orange in front of him; green strands formed into the shape of a pentagram.

The prince's hands flipped over, palm up, and he motioned twice upwards.

The glowing circle shot ten metres into the air in a fire pillar. Kael staggered backwards, breathing hard; the pillar disappeared. The ground smouldered where the summoning had occurred, and the familiar smell of burning soil met his nostrils.

Kael fell to his knees, his vision clouded by the magic that coursed through his veins. He dropped to his hands, then rolled so that he lay on his back. His breath came in gasps as he stared up at the stars; his heart pounded in his ears.

No wonder these magics were said to be addictive! The sensation was incredible, overwhelming -- like orgasm, only slower and stronger. How lucky Dath'Remar had been, to be experiencing this rush every day as he explored the magic's properties!

He wanted to do it again. Perhaps he should test all of the spells. Just once. He couldn't rely on a simple fire pillar to save his people-

"No. Only as a last resort," said prince aloud. His voice echoed -- against what? There was nothing to echo here. Perhaps he hadn't spoken the words aloud after all, had simply imagined them.

Kael sat up. His hair was plastered to his sweaty forehead; he wiped it away.

Now that he knew how powerful this magic was, the prince couldn't allow himself to fall victim to it. He would bury the book in the back of the safe at Dalaran, and only fetch it when -- and if -- the time arose. A sick, twisted part of himself hoped that this time would come soon so that he could use the magics freely.

The prince stood and brushed his robes, then began to teleport back towards the house.

 

 

Kael awoke shortly before dawn and wandered to the kitchen to make himself some breakfast. A fat envelope lay on the table, addressed to Mina. He picked it up and slipped it into his robes.

It was early evening by the time he reached Dalaran. Kael rode past the mages' towers and stopped before the sorceress' sanctum. The spire was tall, even taller than the Archmage's chambers, and Kael gazed warily at it. He began to climb the stairs, teleporting small distances until he reached Mina's room.

"Welcome back, sparky," said the woman with a yawn; she had been studying the entire day, and hadn't ventured from her room yet. Kael stared; he rarely saw Mina without her makeup. She was rather pretty without it.

"Eldin sent a letter," said Kael; he fished the envelope from his pocket and held it out.

Mina's eyes widened as she stared at the prince's forearm. She caught his wrist and yanked him forward, and her hand trembled as she pushed up his sleeve. Kael looked down, confused, and noticed that the cut on his arm had ripped open during the night. The smeared blood made it look thicker and deeper than it was. He yanked his arm away; the heavy letter fell to the floor.

"Sugar, did you do that?" whispered Mina.

The prince hesitated; he tried to pull his sleeve down to cover the wound. "It isn't what you-"

"My God, Kael, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Mina pulled him into the room and pressed him to a seat on the bed. She rummaged through the drawer of her desk for a cloth, muttering to herself. The prince looked around the room. It was surprisingly barren and tidy, save for a make-up shelf and mirror that was scattered with different bottles and tubes. He wondered why she thought she had to paint herself like a whore each day.

The sorceress tucked her auburn hair behind her long ears and knelt before him with a tube of salve and a cloth. She spat on the wound; he recoiled.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

Mina began to scrub hard around the lesion, and Kael yelled. The sorceress ignored him and gripped so tightly that her claws dug into his skin.

"Your nails are going to draw more blood," said the prince through clenched teeth. He was certain even she couldn't miss the irony.

Mina bit her lip and finished rubbing; The skin was clean and pink with irritation. The runny, cool salve stung the instant it hit the raw wound. Kael hissed and yanked his hand away.

The sorceress rested her hands on her thighs and stared at the ground. The other cradled his arm as he watched her, unable to gauge her expression.

"If you ever hurt yourself again, Kael," she whispered, deadly serious, "I will march over to the Archmage's office and have him place you in psychiatric evaluation. Do you understand?"

Kael dropped his gaze. "Mina, it's not what you-"

"Do you understand?" barked the sorceress; she lifted her chin to gaze evenly at him. Her glowing blue eyes sparkled with tears. The prince stared. He hadn't realized his friend cared so much about him; she only seemed to care about fashion and Eldin. His respect for her increased.

"Yes," he said softly.

"Good." Mina stood and wiped her eyes, then shook her head. "My sister committed suicide, you know."

Kael hadn't known; everyone had been told it was a hunting accident.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"It's okay." Mina let out a sigh, then combed her claws through her shining hair. Her boots echoed in the room as she walked over to the doorway and bent to pick up the letter. A smile crept across her lips as she clutched it to her chest.

"Alright, now leave, sugar," she said as she waved her hand to shoo him away; her tone showed that she wanted to forget what had just happened. "If this letter is what I think it is, I'll be undressing in a few seconds to read it properly."

Kael winced and brought his hand to his forehead against the sudden mental image. "Thanks," he said dryly as he stood.

The sorceress squeezed his shoulder as he walked to the door.

"It's okay to love two people, so stop beating yourself up, hon," she said firmly. "Go to Kalnaka if it will keep you happy, and don't feel guilty about it."

"Maybe I will." The prince had the weekend free of classes, after all, and he could always catch up on his studies at Kalnaka's. He would deposit the journal in the safe and then head straight for Strahnbrad.

He walked down the stairs, mulling over the scene Mina had caused. It had been embarrassing, but that was okay; it wouldn't happen again. He wouldn't need anymore blood--

Would he? What if the spell to reveal the words was only temporary?

The prince panicked at the alarming thought. He hurried back downstairs and rode to the mages' towers, leaving the horse outside as he teleported to the privacy of his room. When the door was closed, the prince opened the book.

The words had faded.

After a moment of initial alarm, Kael took a deep breath to steady himself. This was for the best. He couldn't get any more blood while under Mina's watchful eye, and it was best to avoid the temptation of the spells for as long as he could. Sure, he knew a few by heart now, but it'd be easier to fight off the temptation if he knew he couldn't access more.

A smile floated across his lips as he began to gather his things for the night. He slid the bag over his shoulder and began to head for his horse, naively unaware that it was too late: he had already unlocked a part of himself that would never again be quelled.

 

 

 


	10. Book One - IX

 

**IX**

 

Later that evening, Prince Arthas' birthday celebrations were underway at the castle.

The ball room was filled with several dozen members of Lordaeron's respected upper-class. A live orchestra played soothing music from one corner of the room, and the refreshments tables were piled high with wine, caviar, seafood and appetizers. The prince stood by the door, greeting his guests as they entered. Near him stood Syrius and Muradin. The latter had been Arthas' swordsmanship mentor, many years earlier; he was a squat, good-natured dwarf whose brother was King of Khaz Modan. Though Muradin rarely had time to visit anymore -- he was heading several top-secret excavation operations throughout the lands -- he had taken time off to visit his ex-student and good friend. Now he watched, amused, at the transformation that overcame Arthas' face as Jaina entered the room.

Arthas stared. Jaina's dress was a pale blue and low-cut, showing plenty of cleavage. Her golden hair was curled and pinned up, accentuating the fine features of her face. The woman turned her gaze to him, and he saw that she was wearing tasteful, heavy make-up -- dark kohl, ruby lipstick and cream foundation. She looked every bit the siren as she entered; she glowed next to the roommates who flanked her side. Arthas swallowed and strode to greet them.

He wasn't sure what he said, exactly, as his eyes were focussed on Jaina the entire time. The blonde blushed and looked at the floor, and he wanted to grip her chin and force her into a passionate kiss.

Somehow they wound up back at the beverage table. There was a toast to him, and then people began to dance. Muradin danced away with Jaina in tow, and Arthas suddenly found he could breathe again.

The first thing he noticed was that Syrius' face was red with laughter.

The prince narrowed his eyes. "Yes?"

"I've never seen you drool so much before!" said the lord, choking with mirth. "Seriously, how many times did you come in your pants there? Five? Six?"

"Shut up," muttered Arthas.

Syrius wiped his eyes. "Oh, don't be grumpy, dear," he said sweetly. "We'll get a towel and get you mopped right up: your pants will be dry again before you know it." He chucked his friend under the chin, then started laughing again.

Arthas sighed and turned his back to the lord. "Go away, Syrius."

"Okay, okay," said the lord. "I'm under control now; I promise." His eyes were watering and his tight, twitching lips suggested he was about to laugh, but he managed to keep himself calm. "Well, at least admit you want to dance with her."

"That's not all I want to do to her," muttered Arthas. He brought the wine to his lips, then realized the glass had been drained. "I need another drink," he said.

"You know," murmured Syrius. "I was hoping you'd given up on her so I could-"

"Don't you touch her," threatened Arthas. He filled his glass to the brim with brandy and drained it in one gulp. "Give me a moment. I need liquid courage." The reality was that he needed to keep himself busy to avoid slaying Muradin out of bitter jealousy.

"In that case, when Muradin gets back, I think we should give you your birthday present," said Syrius, clapping his friend on the back. "We'll put it to good use."

 

 

Jaina rather enjoyed dancing with Muradin. The dwarf was short -- he barely came up to her shoulder -- but his shoulders were so broad and his torso so muscled that no one would dare comment on his size. His beard was an enormous strawberry-blond bushel that he had braided neatly down to his waist. His blue eyes sparkled merrily, and his cheery demeanour was so contagious that Jaina found herself laughing without quite knowing why. Perhaps it was his Dwarven brogue; the rolling r's and guttural consonants were delightful. It had been many years since she had spoken with a dwarf. Though their conversation mainly consisted of bawdy jokes on his part, she was quite entertained, and she decided to follow him back to the refreshment table.

Syrius smiled as they approached; Arthas tried to smile, but his eyes went directly to Jaina's cleavage, then he looked away, his cheeks pink. It was humourous to see the man she knew so intimately act so shyly around her, and the blonde felt rather as if the prince were courting her anew. She tossed her hair behind her shoulders and thrust her chest out slightly, preening herself before him.

"She's a fine dancer!" proclaimed Muradin. "Lads, a toast to the lovely Miss Proudmoore!"

"You flatter me so," said Jaina. Arthas chanced another obvious look at her bosom; she wondered if he had been into the alcohol before her arrival.

"If we're going to toast, I think we should do it with proper ale," said Syrius. He lifted the tablecloth and pulled a large keg from beneath it. He grunted as he placed it on the table. "Happy birthday, Arthas. It's proper stout from Ironforge."

"Aye, only the best for ye, lad!" exclaimed Muradin. "Brewed proper from oatmeal! None of yer sissy Lordaeron grains. Two pints of this, and ye'll be on the floor!"

"Then you'll have to help me drink it, I suppose," said Arthas, and a slight slur in his speech showed Jaina that he had indeed been drinking. He raised an eyebrow and said rather gruffly, "And you are welcomed to it, too, Lady Jaina."

The woman blushed and looked down. "Perhaps just a little," she said. Ironforge was reputed to have the best ale in the world.

"Ach, and she knows good ale, too!" Muradin clapped her heartily on the back. "Pour her a full pint, Syrius."

"Just a half-pint, please," insisted Jaina; she groaned inwardly as Syrius filled the glass to the brim with the thick liquid.

"Your friends," said Arthas suddenly. "They might like some, too."

"Deranis prefers wine, and Sallia gets tipsy if she even smells alcohol," said Jaina wryly. "But perhaps Loti might share my glass." She excused herself and ducked away to find the elf. Arthas watched her leave. The tight fabric of her dress shifted beautifully against her backside. His dreamy expression sent Syrius into another fit of laughter that almost saw him spill his precious ale.

 

 

The drink was delicious, but so thick that Jaina thought it might also be used as cough suppressant. Loti, not surprisingly, was able to down large amounts of the opaque liquid without feeling its effects; though she was curious as to why elves had such high tolerance, Jaina didn't question it as she allowed her friend to have most of the ale. Arthas was obviously going to be quite drunk by the night's end, and one of them had to stay sober if they were to keep up their pretences.

The woman was debating whether she should approach Arthas again or not when a gruff voice called her name. She turned to see Uther approach. He was dressed in a well-fitted shirt and a long cape that accented his muscles and made him look younger than his sixty-odd years; she didn't recognize him at first.

"Good evening, Jaina," said the paladin. "I wondered if I might have a word with you outside?"

"Of course, Lord Uther," said the woman. She fell into step beside him; he took her through the doors and into the gardens. Out of the corner of her eye she could she the hedge that she and Arthas sneaked through each night to access their secret meeting place; a blush flew to her cheeks and she quickly looked away.

The air was a little chilly against her thin dress. Jaina had insisted it was too low-cut to be decently worn in public, but Sallia had insisted that it would make a good impression on the men. Based on the looks she was getting from Arthas, the woman had been correct.

"It's been a few years since I've seen you, lass," said Uther; she jumped a bit, not expecting him to speak. His voice was deep and gruff and reminded her of her childhood. "How is your father?"

"Quite well, thank you," replied the woman. "He still speaks of you often." The two had been mighty heroes during the Second War, and, to her understanding, had spent nearly three years together on the battlefield cleaning up remaining hostile tribes after the orcs were defeated. Jaina hadn't seen the paladin since her brother's funeral. That, unfortunately, made sense; her father had closed himself off from everyone after Lorne's death, and wouldn't have invited Uther over.

The paladin cast her a sidelong glance. "I am honoured that the daughter of such a great man would choose the company of my star pupil."

"Oh!" Jaina blushed; did that mean he knew? Uther caught her surprise and smiled.

"Don't worry; no one will hear of it from me," he assured. "But you should know that you and Arthas have my support no matter what you choose to do."

She studied him, embarrassed; was he giving them permission to marry? To have sex? To have a child? The paladin saw her red cheeks and mortified expression; he chuckled softly and stopped walking.

"I didn't bring you out here to humiliate you, Jaina," he said as he turned to face her, his hands clasped cordially in front of his body. "I actually wish to discuss the ice wand that saved Arthas' life."

"Oh," the blonde said again, and she looked down. "Prince Arthas has already expressed your gratitude," she said, humble.  
"I am glad," said Uther, "but I wanted to discuss how an applicant to the Kirin Tor managed to master a third year spell." He raised a bushy eyebrow; while his beard and hair were flecked with grey, the eyebrow was still a flawless red-brown.

Jaina dropped her gaze and explained how Brennan had given Kael the wrong book, then how the elderly mage had been helping her with the more difficult spells during the day. Sensing that Uther was going to offer to expedite her acceptance, she hastily added that she wanted to be accepted through the usual process. Uther listened, his eyebrows furrowed.

"Antonidas owes me a favour," he murmured. "Perhaps I could write him and ask him to move the examinations forward. I won't mention your name at all."

"I would be eternally grateful," said Jaina with a faint bow, but not before Uther saw her eyes light up. He smiled at her formality.

"It is the least I can do," he replied, mirroring her bow. "You have saved my disciple's life and made him the happiest I've ever seen him. I am in your debt."

The woman flushed, pleased.

They turned back to the castle. Uther stopped just outside the door.

"Give my regards to Arthas," he said.

"You aren't returning to the party?" asked Jaina. The paladin shook his head.

"It's Arthas' birthday, after all. With Muradin, Syrius and a massive keg of ale present, I think I must turn a blind eye or I would just spoil the fun." He knew quite well what the dwarf's idea of a party was. "Goodnight, Jaina." The paladin smiled and bowed, then headed back along the path they had taken. The woman watched him depart, then opened the doors to the ball room.

 

 

The keg was, in fact, already half empty; Muradin, Syrius and Arthas were engaged in competition to see who could down pints the fastest. Jaina stood back with a small smile on her face, her arms folded over her chest. Muradin won; Arthas was last, by several seconds.

"Ach, come on, boy!" said Muradin, slapping the prince on the shoulder. "Your gullet's a good two times bigger than mine! Make use of it!"

"This is the third time in a row," said Loti as she came to stand beside Jaina. She handed the blonde a glass of wine; they watched the men. Jaina sipped the wine. It was much easier on the palate than the stout ale. It surprised her to recognize that she missed the taste of sweet elven wine.

The men filled the mugs once more and hoisted them into the air; this time, Arthas choked on the ale and leaned forward, coughing and sputtering. Syrius unhelpfully whacked his friend on the back.

"He's getting too drunk to swallow," said the lord.

"Eh? Already?" laughed Muradin. "I thought I told ye to work on his tolerance while I was away!"

"Nobody's drunk," mumbled Arthas; he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stood tall again, letting out a few small coughs.

"But perhaps tipsy enough to let us set you up with Jaina?" asked Syrius.

The aforementioned woman quickly turned away as three pairs of eyes focussed on her. "Goodness," she whispered to Loti with what she hoped was surprise. The elf raised an eyebrow, suspicious.

"Jaina? Ye mean the Lord Admiral's daughter?" Muradin raised his eyebrows; his tone had dropped in pitch. "Hell, if he refuses, set _me_ up with her!"

"Leave Jaina out of this," slurred Arthas, too loudly; he reflected that he was, perhaps, a bit drunk after all.

Syrius sighed and explained to Muradin about the servant Molly, who had apparently been transferred to the Capital City so that she and Arthas could keep up their unconventional romance. The women listened in the background; Jaina tried not to laugh at the lord's ridiculous assumptions.

"That doesn't sound very likely to me," whispered Loti, still suspicious. The blonde was about to reply, but Syrius nudged Arthas in their direction. Jaina anxiously smoothed at her robes, pretending she hadn't overheard the conversation.

Arthas stood tall before the woman and stared at her exposed cleavage. A flush crept across his cheeks as he realized that blood was rushing to his groin. The prince casually clasped his hands in front of himself, trying to force the offending member down with his arm.

"Lady Jaina-" he croaked.

"I'm up here, Milord," said Jaina dryly, and Arthas realized that he still stared at her breasts. Ignoring the hooting laughter of his friends behind him, he snapped his gaze to meet hers. The powder gave her the appearance of a porcelain doll; her face was pale, her cheeks tinged delicately with a flush. Her eyes were glassy against the matte softness of her skin. The prince stared for a moment, then regained control of his voice.

"-would you do me the honour of dancing with me?" he finished. The blonde regarded him coolly for a moment, thoroughly pleased with the effect she was having on him.

"I suppose I cannot refuse a prince," she said, and she handed her glass to Loti and followed the prince onto the dance floor.

Arthas gripped her hand and held her tightly to him as a slow song began to play.

"Sorry," he said under his breath. "Syrius' idea."

"I can't dance," hissed Jaina.

"You have no idea how much I want you," he growled drunkenly into her ear; the woman pushed him away slightly.

"Everyone's watching!" she whispered. Indeed, most of the guests had cleared the floor to gawk at their prince and his partner. Jaina caught Deranis' smug smile from the audience and ducked her head, humiliated.

"I suppose it's because we look so good together," replied Arthas. His voice dropped and he leaned close to her ear again. "Good Lord, Jaina, did you dress like that just to torture me?"

"Yes," she replied.

"If you only knew what I was doing to you in my mind..." The prince's hips shifted slightly against hers; her eyes fluttered shut.

"I see that you haven't drunk yourself into impotence," she breathed.

"That's never been a problem for me," he boasted, a bit too loudly. His next words were hushed: "Besides, I'm not drunk."

"Of course not," she murmured, distracted. His front was warm against hers, and the hard swelling in the front of his pants was beginning to attract her body's attention. The warmth that burnt her cheeks had spread to her torso and limbs, and it seemed to her that the staring crowd was painfully aware of her arousal.

"I wish they'd stop watching," she whispered. "It's embarrassing."

"It most certainly is," agreed the prince, though his tone was far from convincing. He rested his cheek against the top of her head and closed his eyes, breathing in the lavender scent of her shampoo. The hand at her lower back began to rub along the soft fabric. Jaina tensed, and he remembered that they weren't supposed to be arousing suspicions that they were in love. He needed to get her out of there quickly. The prince pulled back a bit to whisper in her ear.

"Let's get out of here, Jaina." The blonde didn't reply, so he continued. "I kiss you. You push me away and run off, pretending to be offended by my advances. I grow depressed and 'retire' early, and meet you back at your place."

"I don't think-" The woman was cut off as he gripped her chin and pressed his lips to hers. Her eyes flew open -- the sudden movement had genuinely surprised her. In front of the entire crowd; the nerve! She roughly pushed him away.

"Arthas!" she snapped. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

The prince wasn't sure if she had started acting or not. An angry flush had risen to her cheeks, and a muscle in her jaw twitched; she was beautiful when she was angry. He wondered what she'd do if he knocked her to the ground and forced himself on her, right there on the dance floor.

"I..." He trailed off, staring at her livid expression.

The band had quickly stopped the slow song and launched into a waltz, not wanting to draw anymore attention to the prince's situation; still the crowd stood and watched, transfixed by the scene before them.

Jaina sighed and dropped her gaze. "Your Majesty," she said. "You shouldn't have done that."

Now he recognized that she was acting, and a breath of relief left his lips. He reached out a tentative hand to her jaw; she stepped away before contact was made. The prince sighed and let his hand drop.

Jaina curtsied. "Goodnight, Prince Arthas," she said, then she turned and ran from the room.

The crowd immediately began to chatter; some couples rushed onto the dance floor, eager to shelter their prince from the humiliation. Arthas stood alone, staring at the direction where she had run, then bowed his head and stormed back to his friends.

"Ouch." Syrius clapped his friend on the back. "Sorry, Arthas."

"Shut up!" snapped the prince. He grabbed a mug and slid it under the keg, then downed the ale in one gulp. "That was the stupidest idea you've ever had!" he added, thrusting a finger at his friend. He dropped the mug; it smashed on the marble floor. "I'm going," he muttered.

"Arthas-" Syrius moved to stop him, but Muradin held him back. They watched as the prince stormed from the room.

"Let him go to Molly, lad; he'll be back when he's calmed down," said the dwarf. He had a sneaking suspicion that he knew who 'Molly' really was.

 

 

Jaina hurriedly set some plain wax candles about her room and lit them; she grabbed a bottle of fine wine and two goblets and set them on the bedside table. She was at the powder table touching up her make-up when a soft knock sounded at the door.

Arthas didn't wait for her to let him in; he slid through the door and closed it behind him.

"That was fun." The prince smirked. "I got to make quite the little scene-"

The blonde ran up to him and caught his jaw with her hand before he could finish, jerking him close for a slow, deep kiss that left him staggering slightly when she pulled away. This would have pleased her greatly were he not already staggering from the ale.

"My room's a bit of a mess," apologized the woman as she grabbed his hand and led him through the common room.

'A bit of a mess' was an understatement. Arthas stared. The desk was strewn with open books and loose papers with detailed notes in tiny writing. Papers were scattered on the bed, too. He stared at the candles dotting the room and wondered if it was perhaps a fire hazard to leave them atop so much paper.

"Tiny, disorganized, and crammed with more knowledge about magic than most people would give two hoots about," he murmured. "This room suits you, Jaina."

The woman gave an insulted cry and slammed the door shut. "I'm putting that one down to the ale," she said.

Arthas smirked; he swept some papers from her bed and sat on the exposed bedspread. "Well," he said, "I'm sick of foreplay." He patted the bed next to him.

"You're so romantic, Prince Arthas," she said as she slid onto his lap.

 

 

They were interrupted less than half an hour later.

Arthas' teeth were tight in the flesh at the back of her neck. Jaina bit hard into the pillow, pressing her face deep into the soft cushion. A muffled yell sounded as her climax approached; the prince grunted and picked up his pace.

He suddenly stopped, his head snapping to the door. Jaina wearily lifted her head and whispered his name in protest.

Arthas silenced her and cocked his head toward the door.

"Don't stop on our account, Jaina, honey," called Sallia's bawdy voice from the common room. "We don't mind the entertainment."

"Damnit," muttered Jaina. Why had they come home so early? Arthas delicately removed himself from her body, crept to the door and wrapped his hand around the doorknob, holding it shut in case the nosey women should decide to open it. Jaina sat up and pulled the duvet up to cover her breasts; her tousled hair fell into her face.

"And, hey, stranger," added Sallia, closer now, "if you should tire of Jaina's company, my room is the last door on your right."

"Goodnight, Sallia," said Jaina pointedly.

"We're going to stay up for a bit." It was Deranis this time. "We'll find out who this guy is one way or another."

"Damnit," muttered Jaina again.

Their booted footsteps drifted away. Jaina sighed and shoved the hair from her forehead. Arthas listened to make sure they were gone, then moved to sit on the bed beside her.

"Sorry," she murmured. "I guess that plan backfired."

The prince peeled the quilt off of her body, then sat on his heels on the floor. His hands curled around either side of her waist.

"What are you doing?" gasped the woman.

Arthas lifted her body and lowered her to his lap. His lips drifted to her ear.

"The bed won't creak if we don't use it," he murmured.

It didn't take long to finish what had been started. Jaina helped the prince into the bed and pulled the quilt snugly over both of them. The mattress was too small for both of them; they lay on their sides, spooned together, but even then his feet hung over the end.

"I suppose I'm staying the night," said Arthas, noting the drunken laughter that floated from the common room.

"Apparently." She snuggled back against him. "I'll wake you up at dawn and we'll sneak you out of here."

"I'd rather stay until morning," he said honestly.

Jaina's eyes slid closed and she smiled at the thought of making breakfast for the prince, at chatting with him well into the afternoon. But then Sallia and Deranis entered her fantasy; they clung to the prince, asking awkward questions and shooting Jaina knowing glances. She gritted her teeth.

"The second I get my own place," she murmured, "you can stay as many mornings as you like."

"What of my room?" asked the prince. "The castle is private."

"And only fifteen thousand servants would see me entering at night and leaving in the morning," pointed out the blonde. "Do you realize how quickly the gossip would spread?"  
Arthas sighed and placed a gentle kiss to the back of her ear. He nuzzled it with his nose; even here her delicate scent was present.

"I'm just happy to be able to hold you in my arms as I fall asleep," he said honestly, though he was a bit annoyed at her introversion.

The woman smiled. "It is a lovely feeling, isn't it?" A yawn split her jaw. "Goodnight, Arthas."

"Goodnight, Jaina."

 

 

Deranis poured a glass of wine for Loti, then looked away. The elven habit of swirling wine in the glass annoyed her, and she preferred not to see it.

"Maybe it's Syrius," said Sallia in a hushed voice. "He left shortly after Prince Arthas did."

"He was talking about finding the prince and taking him to a whorehouse," said Deranis dubiously. "He doesn't seem the type to give up a chance at a whorehouse to be with one woman. Besides, he was with us the first night she was with her lover."

"Muradin?" guessed Sallia. "They were looking pretty cozy dancing together, and Jaina's gone out with other races before."

"He just arrived in Lordaeron today. Not likely." Deranis drained her glass and let out a loud sigh, then set it on the table before them.

"She left the room with Lord Uther," said Sallia suddenly. The curly-haired woman sent her an amused glance.

"Not a chance. He's far too old." She shook her head and leaned back, folding her arms across her chest. "Chances are that he wasn't even at the celebration. He's probably some blacksmith's apprentice we've never heard of or something."

Loti gave a disgusted sigh and stood. "Excuse me," she said, "It's getting late." She set her empty goblet on the table and glided towards her room.

"Maybe I'll go to bed, too," said Sallia with a yawn. "They'll probably sleep in; we'll get up at eight and catch them before he leaves the house."

Deranis was about to argue, but the wine was making her sleepy. "Very well," she said. "I'll see you then."

 

 

Arthas stood before a pillar of ice; his arms wrapped around himself and he shivered with the cold. A voice emanated from the ice. It was strong and deep, and reverberated so strongly that he felt the vibrations in his toes.

"I have made my decision," it said.

"Arthas?"

The prince's eyes parted to see Jaina leaning over him. He stared, wondering if he was still dreaming. Her makeup had smudged slightly, but her face was still soft and creamy.

"Arthas," she whispered, "it's dawn."

"Already?" The prince sat up, shivering. Alarmed, Jaina put a hand to his forehead.

"You're burning up," she said.

"I'm fine," he replied, and the shivering stopped. He looked around, a bit confused. Her room looked normal enough. "Am I really awake?"

The blonde reached over to pinch the skin of his rear; he yelped softly and turned. His hands gripped her shoulders and he tossed her back to the bed. His elbows and knees flattened her body as he bit her shoulder in retaliation.

"Stop it! You have to go," protested Jaina in a shaky whisper. She stifled giggles as he kissed along her collarbone; his morning stubble was long enough to tickle her skin.

"Come on," she whispered. She wrenched one arm free and pressed a hand to his broad chest in a futile attempt to shove him away. "You have to leave." It was a struggle to keep her tone serious.

Arthas sighed, but stood. He pulled on his clothes; they were in a wrinkled heap on the floor, and there were several wax stains on the front from dripping candles. Torina would not be happy that he had ruined his best clothes.

Jaina opened the door for the prince, checking to make sure the common room was empty, then urged him out. They walked softly to the door; Arthas bent to give her a long, slow kiss.

"Tonight at nine," he whispered. "I'll expect you at ten."

Jaina laughed dryly and pushed him through the door, shutting it behind him. She smiled and wandered dreamily to the divan. It let out a little sigh as she flopped onto it; she mimicked the noise and chuckled.

How wonderful it had been to awaken in the prince's arms! His embrace was warm and tight; she had forced herself to stay awake for nearly an hour before dawn just to revel in it. His hardened muscles twitched often as he slept -- she imagined he must dream a lot -- and at one point he had unconsciously buried his face in her hair and gripped her tightly enough to make her gasp for breath. She wanted to feel that again, to smooth his brow as nightmares plagued him, to be there for them when he awoke after erotic dreams...

It was then that she noticed that Loti was standing over her. Jaina abruptly sat up.

"Loti!" she exclaimed; she smoothed her robes.

"I couldn't sleep," said the elf. She raised a slender eyebrow. "Nor could you, I see."

"I..." Jaina trailed off. "How much did you see?"

Loti raised her other eyebrow and settled into the divan beside her friend. "That was pretty risky, wasn't it?" Her tone was impossible to read. "I'm not sure why you're keeping it secret," she said softly, "but I can guess. The kingdom will figure it out soon, Jaina, and so will my prince."

The blonde stared, a bit surprised. It wasn't like the elf to be so frank.

"Prince Kael will hurt less if he hears it from your lips," murmured the elf as she hooked a long strand of red hair behind her ear.

"I suppose you're right." Jaina sighed and stood. "Perhaps I will go write a message for him now."

"That would be a good idea." Loti smiled, then stretched out on the divan. "Goodnight, Jaina."

The blonde stared at the elf, a bit unsettled by the girl's unusual demeanour; perhaps she had consumed too much alcohol. Eventually she returned to her room.

She intended to write the message to Kael, but the moment she sat down, her vision began to swim. The long chain of sleep-deprived nights had finally caught up with her. The woman curled up on the bed and fell fast asleep.

 

 

Kalnaka stood up from Kael's lap; the prince sighed, content, and fell back to the bed. His eyes were closed and his lips curved into a faint smile. The woman watched him for a moment, still waiting for a moment to tell him what she had decided. It would undoubtedly ruin his good mood, and she so rarely saw him smile lately.

"The sun's coming up," said Kalnaka, conversational, as she padded to the tea kettle.

"Already?" Kael made a noise that was close to a hum, then rolled onto his side so that he could watch her. The brunette stood with her back to him as she poured the tea, and he traced down her back with his gaze. Her rear was round and pert, and trailed down to graceful thighs that were just barely dimpled with cellulite at the top. Her calves were rounded, and her ankles were slender. The prince rolled onto his back again, smiling.

"How are you, Kalnaka?" he asked. There hadn't been much conversation that night. Mina had been right: it was okay to love two women. The realization had allowed him to give himself to Kalnaka with a fervour that was unhampered by guilt.

The woman looked at him, then quickly turned back to the tea. She poured the cream and sugar into it to his tastes. The teaspoon clinked against the glass as she stirred the liquid.

"My father has been ignoring my messages again," she murmured, "so I am going into business."

"Into business?" asked the elven prince, surprised. Kalnaka had wanted to start her own restaurant for years, but never had the money to do so. He had offered to help out, many times; she had stubbornly refused.

The woman's hands shook as she brought the teacups to the bed. Kael took his and breathed in the fragrant steam. He slid up to rest against the pillow so that his torso was upright. Kalnaka waited until he had drained the liquid, elven fashion, then took the cup from him.

"It will be a self-run business," said Kalnaka. "If I charge higher than most other women, I will get only the highest quality of clients. I may only have to do it for a year or two."

Kael stared.

"I hear just a night's work can get you over a thousand gold," added the brunette. Her chestnut gaze focussed firmly on him.

"Kalnaka!" Kael sat up abruptly, praying he had misunderstood. "You're going to sell your body?"

"I'm tired of waiting for money to come from somewhere else." The brunette smiled sadly. "Besides, I'm so far in debt that even my father's money wouldn't be enough for me to live off of. He owes me twenty-four thousand, but my mother's treatments before her death added up to more than thirty. I have to survive somehow." Noticing his shocked expression, she added, "Don't worry; I'll never charge you, and you will always be my top priority."

"But..." Kael ran a shaky hand around her cheek. His fingers were warm from the teacup. "You deserve so much better," he whispered.

"Do I?" The brunette leaned forward and gazed solemnly at him. "I am the bastard child of a prostitute, Kael. I'm barren. I have nothing to my name except this run-down cottage, and my only skill is cooking." She shook her head. "No one will ever marry me, and I don't have the brains to go through school. That doesn't leave many options."

"The thought of strange men touching you makes my stomach twist with worry," the prince whispered. "Think what they could do to you."

"I will screen my clients beforehand." She kissed his cheek. "You'll pass on the word to some of your reputable, wealthy friends for me, won't you, Kael?"

"Never!" The prince pulled away; his jaw trembled. "Don't ever ask me to do a thing like that again."

"Are you jealous?" asked Kalnaka, surprised. He focussed his glowing gaze on her, then looked away.

"Kael," she whispered. "We aren't supposed to fall in love, remember?"

His eyes snapped to her face. "I am in love with one woman only, and she would never dream of selling herself like a cheap whore."

"Well, maybe if I had Miss Proudmoore's inheritance, I could afford to live without raising money for myself," said the woman, her voice tight with insult. "But I don't, Kael." She turned away and muttered, "I know it's hard for someone like you to understand, but some of us weren't born with a silver spoon in our mouth."

Kael stared, his mouth open. Then his shoulders slumped and he buried his face in his hands with a loud, shaky sigh.

The woman set her teacup on the floor and moved to sit by him.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean that." She ran her hand along his bicep in soothing strokes. "You work hard for your people, Kael; you earn the money that comes to you." She smiled sadly and smoothed the hair from his high forehead. "But I have no people to support me, no family to aid me when I need help. Please understand: this is all I can do."

The prince looked at his hands. "I have no claim over your body, Kalnaka. Do what you will, but I beg you to find another way. As your friend."

"I've tried, Kael." The woman leaned forward to kiss his temple. "There is no other way."

 

 

When the woman awoke, he was gone. Kalnaka stared at the dent in the pillow beside her, then rubbed her hand gently against it. Her only purpose was to make him happy, and she had only made him angry, had only argued with him. She rose to her feet, feeling a failure.

A knock sounded at the door as the woman was washing dishes an hour later. She strode to it and opened it, surprised. A short elf stood on her doorstep; he bore a scroll. A box rested at his feet. He handed her the scroll, then lifted the box and set it inside the door without a word. She thanked him, bewildered.

The scroll read simply, "Kalnaka: don't. Everything will work out." It was in Kael's spidery script.

Within the box, in three neat bars, was thirty thousand gold.

 

 


	11. Book One - X

 

**X**

 

Deranis and Sallia were disappointed that there was no trace of Jaina's lover when they barged into her room at half past eight that morning.

"You idiot," scolded Deranis. "I told you he'd be long gone."

"I thought they'd sleep in," said Sallia.

"'We'll get some sleep and catch them first thing in the morning!'" mocked Deranis.

"I told you-"

Jaina cleared her throat and raised an eyebrow. The intruding women bowed their heads as their friend stood and began to pace around them, dressed only in her shift.

"You two are the most perverted peeping toms I have ever known," said the blonde, revelling in their discomfort. "It's all your fault, you know. If you weren't so nosy, I wouldn't have to hide my relationship from you in the first place, and you wouldn't be dying of curiosity."

"We'll find out," said Sallia confidently.

Jaina stopped pacing and stood before them, looking up at the women. "I don't doubt you will," she said clearly. "But keep in mind that I know more secrets about both of you than you'd care to know, and I will not hesitate to employ these juicy tidbits if any word of my love life is leaked, understand?"

The women stared at each other, stunned. The blonde had never blackmailed them before; it didn't seem to be a part of her nature.

"Of course," muttered Deranis; she elbowed Sallia, and the brunette repeated the words.

"Good." Jaina smiled. "Now, if you'll head to the kitchen, I'll make us all a nice big breakfast. I'll be along in a moment."

As soon as the door closed behind them, Jaina stood before the looking glass and pulled the pot of ointment Arthas had given her from its hiding place in her top drawer. She slathered it on the new love marks on her neck. The salve was scentless and rapid; the dark marks instantly faded several shades. In some perverse way, she immediately began to miss them.

The woman hummed slightly to herself as she tore off the shift and pulled on clean clothes, certain that Deranis and Sallia would finally back off and give her some room to breathe.

 

 

Back at the castle, Arthas raised his head as someone called his name. He was sitting in his study, his elbows on his knees, trying to fight off a wave of nausea that had suddenly overwhelmed him. His swimming vision cleared to reveal the dwarven warrior, who looked a bit haggard and pale after the night's festivities. It was nearly noon, but it felt like early morning to both of them.

"Are ye alright, lad?" asked the dwarf, concerned.

"Yes, I'm fine, Muradin," said Arthas as cheerfully as he could bear. "Good morning."

"A bit hung over, eh?" Muradin pulled out a chair and sat backwards in it; the tips of his multiple scabbards clinked against the floor. "I was hoping to get some fencing in with ye, but if ye aren't up to it-"

"Just give me a minute," said Arthas kindly.

The dwarf smiled and leaned back; he pulled out one of his swords and began to polish it. "Those are some nasty bug bites ye have on yer neck there, lad," he said innocently.

Arthas sighed and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. "You have no idea how tired I am of people commenting on that," he said; some pride showed in his words.

"So, when's the wedding?" asked the dwarf. "You and the fair Lady Jaina seem very much in love." His blue eyes sparkled at the prince's surprised expression. "Ye looked at her the way yer father looked at yer mother, lad. And the way yer grandfather looked at yer grandmother, a long time before." He stroked his enormous braided beard thoughtfully as he realized that he had known the Menethils for almost five generations.

The prince stared for a moment, then dropped his head and shook it. Clearly everyone but Syrius knew him too well.

The dwarf chuckled. "Well, lad, if ye ever need any advice on sex or lovin', ye can always come to me. Uther is wee bit of a pansy when it comes to these matters -- even if he was once something of a young stallion himself."

"Thanks for the offer, but if my sex life got any better, I would die of over-stimulation," said Arthas flatly. The dwarf chuckled.

"No better way to go."

"Yes, well..." Arthas cleared his throat. "Perhaps we should duel now, Muradin."

The dwarf grinned at his friend's atypical shyness. He drew his axe and stood; he had heard about the prince's recent illness, so he figured he should hold back a bit. The axe was slow and unwieldy and would prove less difficult for his friend to fight against with a sword.

Arthas stood, but sank back to his chair as his head throbbed. He bent over his knees, gasping for air. Muradin started forward.

"Are ye alright, lad?" he asked. "Perhaps I should fetch Uther."

"I'm fine," said Arthas, annoyed. He leapt to his feet to prove his statement; as he began to sink to the floor, he reflected that this hadn't been the most sensible idea.

Muradin caught the prince and lowered him to the floor. Arthas' skin was flushed and his breaths were ragged.

"Good Lord, man," exclaimed the dwarf. "Stay here. I'll fetch Uther."

Arthas closed his eyes, his senses whirling too much for him to understand what the other had said.

 

 

When Arthas' vision cleared, he was lying in bed. Uther sat in a chair beside him; he mixed some herbs in a small mortar and pestle. The prince sat up.

"I thought I was through being ill," he growled, his voice hoarse.

"You were, lad." Uther raised a thick eyebrow and transferred the ground herbs into a glass of water. He held it up to the light and stirred it until the contents were evenly blended. "Drink this; it will help the nausea."

Arthas downed the drink, then coughed; he hadn't expected there to be alcohol in it. His throat burned.

Uther set his materials aside and leaned back in the chair, his arms folded over his chest. "We think it might be malaria," he said gently. "That would explain why you're ill again; it tends to recur in some people."

"Malaria? In Quel'Thalas?" Arthas snorted. He rolled onto his side, then returned to his back. "I don't have time to be ill," he muttered; he had classes to teach, and a beautiful woman to make love to.

"Your fever isn't high, lad," said the paladin. "You'll recover quickly. I'll have Gavinrad take over your classes for a week and we'll send you to the Cliffs to recover. The fresh air will do you good."

Arthas sighed and slid down the pillow, his brows heavy. "If I keep missing classes, I'll never be reinstated."

"You have no idea how often I've wished to hear you lament being kept from your paladin's duties," chuckled Uther.

"I'm glad my situation is pleasing to you," snapped Arthas. He slid further down the pillow; his chin rested against his chest. He sighed and brought the back of his hand to his forehead.

"I'm not going to be able to meet Jaina tonight, am I?"

"Probably not." Uther hesitated. "I could go meet with her and let her know of your condition."

"I would appreciate that," said Arthas. He closed his eyes in an attempt to steady his temper.

Uther watched him for a moment, then excused himself and stood, promising to return. He did, a few minutes later with a package in his arms. The prince watched, curious, as the paladin set it on the bed.

"I didn't think it was paladinlike to try to buy a disciple's happiness," said Arthas finally.

"It will give you something to do while you're recovering," said Uther with such gruff shyness that the prince smiled. "Happy birthday, Arthas, if a few days early."

The package contained a brand new edition of the Holy Book. The leather cover was edged in what appeared to be pure gold. Arthas opened the cover; the pages were thin rice-paper and the calligraphy was neat and even. He had never seen such a beautiful book in his life.

"There's an appendix at the back so that you can reference some of the key concepts, and about twenty blank pages for your own notes," said the paladin, awkward.

Arthas looked up at his mentor. "Thank you," he whispered, his throat tight. Uther bowed his head in a respectful nod.

"I should add that your father sends his regards," added the paladin. "He's commissioning the dwarven masters of Ironforge to craft a mallet for you. It should be arriving on your birthday, but seeing as you will be at the Cliffs on that day, you will have to receive it when you return."

Arthas was silent; evidently his father had no clue what to give his son as a gift, and had asked Uther for advice. Well, at least he was getting a gift this year; he hadn't received anything from his father since his eighteenth birthday.

"Is he at least coming to see me?" asked the prince softly. Uther bowed his head.

"He is feeling a bit under the weather, lad. He would if he could, of course."

"Of course." Arthas sighed and settled back against the pillow. He gritted his teeth; a bit 'under the weather?' If the King had asked for his son's presence in the throne room at that exact moment, Arthas would have staggered there, a cloak wrapped tightly around him for warmth. Apparently it wasn't realistic to expect mutual respect.

The paladin stepped back, noting his disciple's changing mood.

"I should go; your students will be waiting for someone to teach them. I'll send for Jorn to keep administering the medications to you; I expect you'll recover quickly." He bowed and excused himself.

Arthas sighed. He sat against the pillow again and picked up the book. His fingers traced the border; it was a beautiful book. There was a silk bookmark on the chapter he had been reading in Uther's book. The detail made him smile.

The prince intended to read, but his eyelids grew heavy before he had even finished a passage. By the time Jorn reached the room, Arthas was in a deep slumber, the book sitting neatly beside his pillow.

 

 

Jaina spent her morning reviewing the examination material with her roommates. She said nothing of the possibility of the Archmage bumping the examinations forward; fortunately, the roommates didn't question her sudden renewed enthusiasm for the examination material. Loti was still struggling with some of the material from the first examination, and eventually the study group disbanded to allow Jaina to work with her one-on-one.

After a lunch of bread, cheese and stew, Jaina went to her room and lit a candle. She intended to write to Kael, but she wasn't sure what to say. Eventually, she opened the second-year text book and finished the last few pages of it. Now she was fully versed with the spells for the first three years of study. She chewed her lip; if the Kirin Tor didn't accept her soon, she would outlearn all the pupils.

The woman was so engaged in her studies that she lost track of time; fortunately, Loti made supper for them that evening. Jaina ate quickly so that she would have time to bathe before she met Arthas. She was determined to show up at nine o'clock exactly just to spite him.

The clock at town hall was chiming nine just as she left the house. She fled down the street, but slowed as she approached the building. A silhouette stood in the right place, but the shape was entirely wrong.

Jaina approached with caution; she gripped her staff, ready to teleport away if she was in any danger.

"Jaina."

The woman squinted; Uther stepped out of the shadows, dressed in his usual paladin's robes. His eyes were lined with bags and the creases in his forehead were more pronounced than usual.

"Lord Uther?" she asked, and her chest tightened. "Where is Arthas?"

The paladin put a hand on her shoulder. "He's okay, lass," he said gently. "His illness has flared again, but it's nowhere near as serious this time. He wanted me to tell you he can't meet with you tonight."

"Flared?" Jaina wondered if it had been unwise to deprive him of so much sleep so soon after his illness. Uther caught her peaked brows and shook his head.

"Don't worry, neither of you had anything to do with this. It's possibly malaria..."

Jaina felt herself growing dizzy. Uther continued to explain the situation to her, but she had stopped hearing the words; there was too much information. Each word struck uncomfortably at her mind. She wanted to be somewhere quiet, somewhere with Arthas.

"I want to see him," she interrupted.

Uther sighed, not at all sure that was a good idea. "His spirits are a bit low," he said finally.

Her face was peaked as she lifted it, and her jaw trembled. "I want to see him," she said, firmer. The paladin caught her narrowed eyes; he knew that this determination wouldn't be assuaged. He had seen it in his disciple's eyes many times.

"It'll be okay, lass," said the paladin gently, and he began to lead her toward the castle, his arm around her shoulders. Jaina bowed her head and dabbed at the tears that threatened to flood her cheeks.

 

 

Deranis and Sallia stared, their mouths open. They had been too far away to hear the conversation, but Uther's arm on their friend's shoulder as he led her into the night made the situation clear.

It had been Sallia's idea to follow the woman, and they quickly learned that their friend not only owned a staff, but she had somehow learned to teleport. It was difficult to follow someone when they kept disappearing, then reappearing several metres away. They were fortunate to have stumbled to the town hall in time to see the brief exchange -- though both were questioning how fortunate it was to learn who Jaina had come to see.

The auburn-haired woman was the first to recover. "Lord Uther?" she asked faintly. "I was...I was just joking when I suggested him."

"They disappeared together last night," said Deranis, her voice thin. "She was flushed and embarrassed when she returned."

They were silent.

"No wonder she's keeping it a secret." Sallia's nose wrinkled. "He's so...old."

"What's more, imagine if Prince Arthas found out?" The curly-haired woman sighed and rubbed her temples. "Trust Jaina to get herself into a muddle like that."

"Perhaps we should go home," said Sallia quickly.

"Yes, let's." Deranis stopped rubbing her temples and stared in the direction Uther had led Jaina. "I need a drink." The idea of the pair making out like horny teenagers the night before -- in their house, nonetheless -- was thoroughly disturbing.

 

 

The rest of the day had been long for Arthas. The illness had worsened, and was now severe enough that he could barely move, but not enough to force him into constant delirium. Thus he lay in bed without the strength to fight his own morbid thoughts, which flew through his brain with startling clarity. Two realizations had occurred throughout the course of the day, neither of them pleasant.

The first had been that Jaina was, at some point, going to Dalaran. He knew this already, of course, but he hadn't ever allowed himself to contemplate what would happen. Now, in his morbid, pensive state, he had finally admitted to himself that Dalaran was far enough away that they would not be able to spend every night together. Furthermore, he had realized that Kael studied at Dalaran: Arthas had never made the connection before. Jaina would be in the same school as the elven prince -- possibly the same classes, the same lodgings -- and Arthas would be left behind in the Capital City. Though he trusted the woman, he did not trust the elf.

The second realization had been that this was possibly the last birthday he would ever have while his father was still alive. He had expected that Terenas would have made at least some attempt to make an appearance at his own son's birthday party, especially the last one he might ever live to see. But the King hadn't even made an effort to visit his son while he had been ill at the Sandstone Cliffs. He didn't even bother to ever call Arthas by name; it was always "my son." Arthas was just an accessory, a required element of the King's life. It was odd that he had never realized this before. He was closer to Uther -- even to Torina -- than he was to his own father.

The result of these revelations, combined with his aching muscles and throbbing head, was the foul mood that Jaina chanced upon.

He didn't recognize her at first; Uther had told her to pull her hood out to obscure her face, and she kept her head bowed.

The paladin Gavinrad stood; he had sat by the prince's side to monitor his condition.

"His fever's down, Brother, and he seems stable enough."

"That'll be good, Gavinrad," said Uther. "I have brought a priestess to tend to the prince until morning. You get some rest."

"Thank you, Brother," said the other paladin; he gathered his satchel and left the room.

Uther turned to the cloaked figure. "I'll be in the guest room; call me right away if his condition worsens. There are some salves on the bedside table you can use if he starts to have aches again, and make sure he drinks plenty of water. I'll be back at eight o'clock to rouse you; I'll make certain no one disturbs you until then." He raised an eyebrow to address both of them: "But make sure he gets some sleep." He smiled, then ducked out the door.

The cloaked figure sat in the chair beside the bed and took Arthas' hand; her touch was soft, and his eyes slid closed. He recognized that grip.

"How did you get in here?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

Jaina kissed the palm of his hand. "How are you feeling?"  
"Like hell." The prince grimaced. "I didn't really want you to see me like this."

"I don't mind." The woman lay his hand on the bed and pushed back her hood to reveal damp eyes. Arthas gritted his teeth, annoyed that he had caused her worry.

Jaina picked up one of the salves from the table. She smelled it. "Eucalyptus," she said; the smell reminded her of her brother. Lorne had had a habit of chewing eucalyptus pellets; his teeth were often stained green because of them. "Shall I?"

When Arthas made no move to stop her, Jaina gingerly rolled down the covers from his chest, then took a scoop of the salve and rubbed it between her hands. Her skin immediately tingled and cooled. Arthas let out a harsh breath as she placed them on his chest and began to massage. Her touch was gentle, and the ointment soothed the spasming muscles. His rattling breaths evened and slowed.

Jaina lingered longer than she needed to after the salve had been applied, delicately running her fingers across his torso. "Is that better?" she asked softly.

"Yes," he said, "but now I'm a bit chilly."

Jaina slid off her boots. In his hazy state, the prince didn't notice her slide under the covers until she held his head to her chest. Her body spooned beside his and she pulled the covers up to his shoulder. The sheets were a bit damp with sweat, and his skin burned; he shivered a little and inched closer to her.

Jaina cradled him close and pressed her cheek to his slick forehead.   
"Is that warmer?"

He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. "You shouldn't be here, Jaina. Someone will see you in the morning."

The blonde smiled, though she was surprised by his irritation, and kissed his forehead. "It's okay, Arthas. Just try to get some sleep." Uther would help her sneak out in the morning; she wasn't concerned.

The prince's jaw suddenly tensed. "So it's okay for you to take chances that we might be discovered, but not me?"

"Are you serious?" asked Jaina after a minute's hesitation.

"You can share my bed whenever you want, but I can't share yours?" he demanded. His eyes were wild and feverish.

"I have roommates, Arthas," the woman pointed out patiently. "You don't." His pupils were dilated and unfocussed. She smoothed a hand against his clammy forehead.

"You know, Jaina, your hypocrisy annoys me." The wild eyes narrowed, and she pulled away slightly. "And while we're on the topic, if you're so worried about word of us reaching your elven prince, perhaps you should be with him right now and not me." The prince's face twisted into a grimace as pain shot through his temples.

Jaina stared, shocked by his bitter tone. "I think you're hallucinating," she said finally; her voice quivered. "Perhaps I should let you rest." She began to slide out of bed. The prince caught her wrist.

"I don't like double-standards, Jaina, and I don't like having my heart toyed with." His eyes were feverish; his grip was uncomfortably tight.

"No-one's toying with your heart," she said, a bit annoyed even though she tried to remain patient. "Let go, Arthas. You're hurting me."

He cast her arm aside and let out a loud huff, then rolled so that his back was to her. The blonde stared, her mouth open.

"I think Uther was right," she said finally. "I shouldn't have come." She stood. "Goodnight, Prince Arthas." Her voice cracked, and she began to walk to the door.

"Your birthday present's in the top drawer of the dresser," said Arthas softly.

Jaina stopped and looked at him. The prince still faced the wall.

"Take it," he muttered.

The woman watched him for a moment as she tried to figure out what was going on in his head. She finally turned to the dresser and pulled a small, rectangular package from the top drawer. It was wrapped in brown paper and tied with a silver-tinted string. Her steps were soft and slow as she approached the bed.

"You didn't have to get me anything, Arthas," she whispered as she sat beside him. She seemed so delicate and fractured as she sat before him, her cheeks damp and her face drawn, that he regretted voicing any of his insecurities in her presence. He rolled onto his back and watched her, then raised a limp hand to cup her cheek.

"I'm not myself right now," he apologized softly. "Please; open it."

Jaina was still taken aback by his changing moods, so she focussed her attention on the package. She loosed the string and slid it off, then carefully unwrapped the paper and set it aside. In her hands was the fourth-year spell book of the Kirin Tor, its cover soft and new. Her hands trembled.

"I wasn't sure what to get," said Arthas. "You don't seem to wear jewellery, and you don't seem the sort to appreciate flowers, either." He gave a shy smile. "The mage who sold me this assured me it would be the one you needed. I told him I was attempting to court you, so it needed to be a secret."

The tears in Jaina's eyes spilled over.

"It's exactly the one I needed," she whispered. "Thank you." Her hand sought his; he clasped it firmly and examined the junction. His massive hands dwarfed hers, and he ran his thumb across her petite knuckle.

She looked up at him. "Is it okay if I stay?"

"Of course it's okay," he murmured, annoyed that he had hurt her.

Jaina set her book gently on the bedside table and lifted the quilt to slide into bed with him. The prince wrapped his hot, sticky arms around her. His lips pressed to her forehead. Jaina's eyes slid closed and she listened to his breaths; they rattled slightly in his chest.

"Uther's sending me back to the Cliffs for a week to recover." Arthas nuzzled against the top of her head. "You are welcomed to come if you like; you will, after all, need a quiet place to study your new book." He quickly added, "I can send all but one or two servants away, and I will swear them to secrecy. No-one will know that we are together."

Jaina hesitated.

"Please," whispered Arthas. He smiled and tightened his embrace. "I am desperate to hold you through the night without worry of being discovered in the morning."

Jaina smiled, too, and closed her eyes. "I think that's just what we need," she whispered. After a moment, she added, "but what am I to tell my roommates?"

"Tell them your father wants you to return to Kul Tiras for a birthday celebration." He kissed the top of her head. "If you have a family seal with you, I can send you a message in the morning alerting you of his wishes."

Jaina hesitated, then delicately detached herself from his embrace and stood. She fumbled through her pocket and withdrew her coin purse. The seal was small, with a thick anchor set against a blazing sun. She set it on Arthas' dresser next to his coin purse.

"You'd better not abuse that," she said as she slid back into bed. He chuckled.

"I'll be sure to order two-dozen pigs to be sent immediately to the Lord Admiral's front gates," he murmured, and she chuckled, too, then snuggled back against him.

They fell asleep almost immediately, content in one another's grasp.

 

 

Uther came to rouse them at dawn. He set two sacks on the ground; Torina had packed two lunches, a few pairs of the prince's clothes, and three bottles of fine wine.

"She'll be along to help you dress in a moment, Arthas," said the paladin. He began to take Arthas' temperature to verify that the prince would be able to travel.

"Then I should go," murmured Jaina. She debated whether she wanted to kiss the prince in front of his mentor or not; her cheeks flushed and she decided to pat his shoulder instead.

"I'll send the message straight away," promised Arthas groggily as he sat up. "The stablehand will meet you at the old oak tree at the end of your street in half an hour."

"Sounds good." Jaina smiled, then pulled her cowl tightly about her face. She turned and followed Uther to the door; he would be sure that no-one spotted her.

 

 

Jaina had barely returned to her bedroom when a knock sounded at the front door. Deranis appeared at the door to Jaina's room a moment later, a look of concern on her face.

"Message from your father," said Deranis.

Jaina tried to look surprised. "Thanks," she said as she took it. The wax was still warm; she chuckled and slid the door shut. The prince hadn't put much effort into passing it as a letter that had spent nearly two days travelling to get to her.

The "letter" was made up of several lines of unintelligible markings. Arthas had signed it "Lord Admiral Daelin Proudmoore the Mighty," with a smiley face in the "D" and "P." Jaina brought a hand to her lips to smother her laughter. Evidently he was in better spirits this morning. They were lucky Sallia hadn't answered the door; the nosey brunette paid no heed to seals nor privacy.

The blonde quickly gathered clothing for the upcoming trip and stuffed it into a sack, then went to the kitchen to grab some breakfast. Loti and Sallia were still asleep, so Jaina told Deranis about her plans.

"All the way back to Kul Tiras? For a birthday?" asked Deranis wryly. "The trip alone will take a good part of the week."

"Well, you know my father," said Jaina; she wasn't sure what the statement was supposed to mean, exactly -- the Lord Admiral was not known to be illogical -- but it seemed to silence the other's doubts.

Deranis excused herself and disappeared into the bedroom, then returned with a brown paper package. "Here," she said. "It's from all of us. Open it after your birthday dinner."

Jaina stared at the package, stunned. "You didn't have to get me anything," she said.

"Oh, come on," said Deranis with an unexpected smile. "You cook, you tutor us, and you put up with our nosiness. You deserve a gift." She bowed her head. "Jaina, I think I know who your new lover is. I wasn't sure how to react at first, but I want you to know that you have my support." She added uneasily, "you are a mature woman, and intelligent; it makes sense that you would seek the same."

Jaina stared for a moment, not sure what to make of the speech, but Deranis was awkward about giving compliments and the blonde decided to be flattered. She smiled and hugged her friend. "Thank you," she whispered.

A stablehand appeared a quarter of an hour later and led her to an unpopulated area far from prying eyes. Arthas sat on his steed, wrapped in several blankets to keep him warm for the trip. Beside him was a smaller mount, a palomino with an elaborate blue leather saddle. The stablehand helped her lash her satchel and her staff to the saddle; she handed him a hefty tip, then mounted.

"Sorry I can't help you," said the prince sheepishly. "I'm afraid I'm rather useless at the moment; my wrists are coiled in the reins so that I don't fall off my horse."

"I managed just fine on my own, didn't I?" she asked.

Arthas smiled, then urged the horse into a trot.

 

 

The lovers chatted idly as they rode; the trek was long, but the road was lined with brilliant green meadows and the sun was clear, so the trip was pleasant. Arthas was well; the illness had been treated soon enough that the fever was gone and his aches were subsiding. Uther had sent a full packet of medicines, but the prince doubted he'd need them.

They stopped for lunch underneath a willow tree by the side of the path. Jaina laid out a blanket and unwrapped the lunches Torina had sent. There were grapes and cheese and bread and butter and what appeared to be tinned oysters; they opened one of the bottles of wine and drank it with the food. Afterward they lay on their backs and stared at the branches above them.

Jaina suddenly rolled onto Arthas and pressed her lips to his. When she pulled away, her fingers smoothed the hair from his forehead and her eyes searched his.

"We have all week," murmured the prince, and a smirk tugged at the left corner of his lips. "What's the rush?"

"I'm not allowed to kiss you without making love to you?" she replied coyly.

"No, you aren't," he replied, and he rolled her onto her back and bent his head to catch her earlobe between his teeth.

They stayed for longer than they had intended, and so didn't reach the Sandstone Cliffs until late that afternoon.

Jaina stared as they approached. The rolling meadows suddenly rose into an enormous mountain, but dropped off abruptly to the ocean before it could peak. The lush green of the land contrasted with the bright yellow-orange of the steep cliff face.

"The land is so odd here," she whispered.

"It is." Arthas smiled. "They say that a dragon was trapped under the earth over there--" he pointed at the land to the east "--by an evil curse for thousands of years. During the time, the earth that surrounded the dragon grew to love the magical beast. It would caress the beast each night as he slept, revelling in their forced union. This love was never returned, for the beast only longed to be free.

"One day a wise, strong wizard freed the dragon by lifting the curse. The earth was heartbroken at the prospect of losing its beloved. As the beast began to fly away, the land rose follow the dragon's path, desperate to hold it in its earthen embrace. Longing for freedom, the dragon flew higher, so the land rose even more. But suddenly the land reached the sea and could no longer rise. The dragon winged its way to freedom without looking back, and the earth could only watch and weep from its elevated viewpoint."

"Really?" asked Jaina, intrigued.

"Yes. This area is associated with sudden solitude and heartbreak because of that, so really, I'm happy to have you here to fend that off." He smiled sadly and looked at her. "Some believe that the land calls to you to tell you of its loneliness, convincing you to such despair that you will jump from the cliffs and fall to your death in the seas."  
Jaina stared at him, trying to gauge if he was serious or not.

"It makes for cheap real estate, at any rate," said Arthas with a grin. He urged the horse to a faster pace; Jaina hurried to keep up.

The house was smaller than the blonde had imagined. It was a simple log cottage, with two rooms: one held the kitchen, and the other was a joint bedroom and lounge. Her eyes lit up as she saw an enormous bookshelf in the corner of the room.

"Help yourself," said Arthas as he waved her in the direction of the books. "I'll go to the servant's quarters and alert them of our presence." He wobbled a little as he turned around, and she wondered if she should offer to support him, but figured this would only insult him.

The blonde knelt by the bookshelf and tilted her head to read the spines of the tomes. Most of them were about warfare or the paladin arts, but one faded tome caught her eye. She pulled it free and blew the dust from its cover. It was a first year spell book for the Kirin Tor. The spells were far more complicated and inefficient then than they were in her version. Casting a water elemental required enunciation of three pages of text. Jaina giggled; by the time a mage had recited all those words, the enemy would have killed him.

Arthas pressed his hands to her shoulders and kissed the top of her head; she jumped.

"Dinner will be ready in two hours," he said.

Jaina lifted the book and turned to look at him. "Whose is this?" she asked. Arthas frowned.

"I don't know. Most of these books are Uther's; perhaps he was friends with a mage?" He knelt on the floor beside her. "You can have it, if you like."

"Thanks, but I think it's defunct." Jaina wanted to show him the unwieldy spells, but decided he wouldn't appreciate the humour behind them. She smiled and slid the book back onto the shelf. "Well, what shall we do until dinner?"

"I can take you to the hot springs, if you like," said the prince. "It's a short walk." Uther had ordered him to soak in them at least once a day; their mineral-rich fumes had significantly helped lessen his last bout of illness. Arthas held the door for her. His hand came to her lower back as they walked.

The rolling green land atop the cliffs gave way suddenly to dense rainforest. The stench of sulphur hung in the air. Jaina wrinkled her nose.

"What's that smell?" she asked.

"The springs." The prince was slightly out of breath from the exertion of walking, but he tried not to show it. "Don't worry; your nose will adapt in a second."

He was right; soon she no longer noticed the smell. They came to a small pool bordered by rocks. Ferns hung over the edge; the waters were murky and blue-grey, and they bubbled suspiciously. Jaina stared.

"It's safe," assured Arthas. He quickly stripped off his clothes and lowered himself into the water. His aching muscles immediately began to relax, and he leaned against the wall with a sigh.

Jaina stripped, too -- a bit shyly -- then sat on the edge of the pool and dangled her feet in. The water was so warm that her feet began to tingle.

Arthas sighed again and sat down on a rock that had been smoothed and arranged as a seat. He leaned his head against the rock and closed his eyes. The woman gingerly slid into the water. It came up to her chest; the flesh above it erupted into goose bumps. She let her arms sink into the hot liquid. Already, the water had deposited a slick, soft layer on her skin.

The prince's eyes parted and he watched her. His hair floated on the surface of the water around him; the water caramelized the normal blond hue into a deep golden brown.

"You can sit down if you like," said Arthas.

"The water's too high for me." The woman's cheeks were flushed with the heat.

"Then sit on my lap," he said without any hint of sexual undertone.

Jaina did so; Arthas' arms wrapped delicately around her torso. His skin was velvetty with minerals. She smiled and leaned into his embrace.

They sat like that for nearly half an hour, listening to each other's slow breaths. Arthas finally stirred; she was beginning to wonder if he had fallen asleep. He kissed her temple, then lifted her off of his lap.

"We should get back," he said.

As Jaina held her clothes and wondered how she was going to dry herself off without a towel, Arthas tucked his garments under his arm and began to walk back to the cabin naked. Her eyes widened.

"Arthas!" she said, scandalized. The prince looked back at her.

"There are exactly two servants on this property," he said. "They are both in the kitchen making dinner." An eyebrow raised and he smirked. "Are you concerned about the birds seeing you nude?"

"Well," said Jaina, "no." She wrapped her clothes into a bundle and slid it under her arm, then hurried to catch up with him.

The prince was decidedly more fatigued than he had been on the walk down the hill, and she put her arm around him in support. It was an odd feeling to be nude in plain daylight with her naked lover in her arms.

Arthas entered the house before her and poked his head into the kitchen.

"I'm just going to close this door, ladies," he said, and he did so. He turned to Jaina. "If you want, you can light the fire. It will help you dry."

The woman watched him. "What are you going to do?"

Arthas gave a small sigh and flopped back onto the bed. "Sleep," he said. "Can you wake me when dinner's ready?"

"Sure." Jaina smiled and settled onto a wooden chair in front of the fireplace; she sent a small fire bolt to it and opened her new textbook.

Later that night, after a filling supper, she lay on the bed beside Arthas and opened the package from Loti, Deranis and Sallia. Inside was a beautiful purple cape with a silk cream lining, edged in gold. She stared at it for a moment, then leapt to her feet to try it on. The hood was large enough to obscure most of her face, just as she liked. The cape was of the modern asymmetrical fashion; it fell over her left arm, leaving her right exposed. She pulled the cape around and examined the back. On the back, in cream fabric, were the runes for the spell to summon a water elemental. The blonde began to laugh, then rushed to pick up her staff. She braced it before her body and stood tall.

"Do I look like a sorceress?" she asked.

Arthas smiled. "Most definitely," he said. His smile threatened to fade, so he quickly called her back to the bed. He was unable to shake his fear about losing her to the Kirin Tor -- and to Kael -- and seeing her dressed as a fashionable young sorceress did little to soothe his anxieties.

 

 

Kael slid his key into the safe and delicately turned it, careful not to attract the attention of the guards. He almost laughed at his own paranoia. Sneaking around like a criminal; he had a right to be here. It was his key that kept his strongbox locked, after all. Still, he couldn't shake the impression that what he was doing was wrong.

He hadn't intended to do this, but he wasn't able to stop thinking about the spells. About Dath'Remar. His dreams that night had been filled with images of the tall, noble elf; he would stride from a circle of flames to take Kael's hand and lead him into the brilliant, painful flames. The prince saw demons, too; they seemed to be made of stones piled atop of each other, with glowing green fire at their joints. Once there was another demon: his snakelike skin was a deep blue-green, and horns curled from either side of his head. This demon would reach out his hand to take Kael's, too, but when they made contact Kael felt his soul grow light -- it tingled in his body, a delicate tickle. The dreams blended into one another until he didn't know anymore how many times he had actually awakened between them. It seemed that a week's worth of nights had passed, but now he caught sight of the moon and judged that he had only been asleep for five hours.

The prince had awoken in a frantic sweat to realize that he stood, in his pajamas, at the base of the tower that housed the safes. There seemed, in his half-asleep state, no point to fight the cravings. He needed the magic of his ancestors; he needed the powers of the Sunwell.

The book seemed to glow as he lifted it from the box. Its cover was smoother, softer, and Kael hugged it tightly to his chest, then wrapped his dark cloak around himself. His gaze darted first to the left, then to the right, as he slid the strong box closed and removed the key from the lock.

The elven prince waited until he was safely in his room to unwrap his cloak and examine the tome. The words were still hidden by the magics; he slipped a hand beneath his mattress to find his hunting knife.

It wasn't until he had pressed the blade to his skin that he remembered Mina's threats about what she would do if he cut himself again. Fortunately he hadn't yet drawn blood with the dull blade. He examined his body to determine which part of it would be hidden from view, then decided on his right leg, three inches below the hipbone. The steel cut into his skin and he let out a tiny gasp; this time he felt the pain.

This cut bled more profusely than the last, and he decided to gather the extra blood in a vial for next time. That way, he wouldn't have to harm himself further. He picked up a vial on the shelf below his looking glass and emptied its perfume out the window. There was still some perfume on the vial, and it stung the wound as he pressed the vial into it. The blood pulsed until the tiny glass container was full. Kael plugged the stopper back into it and set it on the shelf. He would create a frozen storage box for it later. There could be no more delays.

His eyes began to glow white as he gathered a drop of blood on his claw and let it drip onto the book. The fire bolt flew from his hands before he knew he had cast it, and a sneer tugged at his lips.

When he'd revealed the journal's contents once more, Kael's claw ran along the tattoos on Dath'Remar's body on the picture before him. Such a brave, noble man, sacrificing his well-being and soul for the study of magic. A smile flew to Kael's lips. Jaina would understand; she knew what it was like to want to give anything for the chance to study, to further the limits of human and elven knowledge. If she were here, she would be standing behind him, her hands on his shoulders, as she encouraged him to follow his ancestor's path and divulge all the secrets of the magics of the world, regardless of its cost.

There were new spells, now, some of them beyond what he had imagined possible. One spell allowed the user to drain magic-casting energies from their enemy. Imagine the possibilities in battle! A mage who could drain energy could cast an unlimited number of spells. Another turned a targetted creature ethereal -- the creature would be unable to use physical attacks, but would be ripe for targetting with magic spells. How useful that could be against non-magic-users such as the trolls that had attacked Quel'Thalas!

An idea suddenly struck Kael. He would copy out the spells by hand, one at a time, so that he would never need to magically open the book again. It would be the best way to memorize the spells, and they would be handy for him to use when he needed them. There was a blank notebook on his desk that he had been saving for his studies; he opened the front cover and creased it open.

"The Magicks of the Great Dath'Remar," he wrote, and his lips curved into a smile.

The prince set about his work so diligently that the sun came up before he had a chance to sleep. He waited until the last possible moment to leave for his classes; he brought the books with him, under his robes. Entering a few minutes late allowed him to sit at the back of the class instead of in his normal position at the front next to Mina. The books fit perfectly behind his normal schoolbooks, hidden from view, and he worked diligently through the class.

The words began to fade halfway through class, and the prince hadn't brought the vial of blood with him. Not that he had remembered to cool the blood, anyway; it was likely useless by now.

Kael shifted and slid his right hand inside his robes to reopen the wound he had created earlier, then rubbed his bloody claw on the page. Casting a fire bolt without attracting the attention of his classmates was difficult, but an opportunity arose when the instructor cracked a joke, and the class began to laugh. Kael turned himself invisible and concealed the book behind his cloak as he lit it on fire; when the flames died, he casually reappeared in his seat. No-one noticed. The prince let out a quick breath, then returned diligently to his work.

He was so intent that he didn't notice that the room was emptying until Mina slid into the seat beside him. Kael panicked and slammed his books shut, then slid them under his arm.

"So, what's the story, sparky?" asked the sorceress, coolly examining him. "You're late for class, your eyes are swollen and baggy, and you're looking around as if you expect someone to jump you at any moment."

"I have to go," said Kael quickly. He stood. Mina's eyebrows furrowed.

"Honey, you're bleeding," she exclaimed. Kael looked down and saw that the wound on his leg had soaked through the robes; the dark brown stain was vividly apparent against the crimson robes. The prince swore and tugged his dark cloak around to obscure the wound.

"Must have bumped into something," he said angrily, and he began to walk past her.

"Kael..." Mina caught his arm; the prince batted it away and clutched at her throat to force her against the wall.

"Don't touch me," he growled, his lips close to her ear.

Mina whimpered; the sound vibrated his palm. Kael looked at his hand, surprised to find it obstructing his friend's airway. His arm dropped and he began to walk away. Mina ran her hands along her neck; his grip had been tight enough that it took a moment to get her breath back. Her brows narrowed and she thrust her hands in front of her body in a V.

The bolt hit Kael dead in the center of his back. He turned and stared; his eyes were wide with surprise. His body began to shrink. Mina watched, satisfied, as the noble elven prince morphed into the body of a sheep. His clothes fell to a pool around him.

"No one hurts me and gets away with it," said the sorceress. She strode towards him, her arms folded over her chest. "Especially not you, sparky."

The sheep bleated angrily. It crawled out from the puddle of clothes and ground its hoofs against the carpet in a threat. Mina chuckled.

"Calm down, honey. It'll wear off soon." The sorceress stepped forward and knelt before the fallen clothes. Kael let out a loud bleat and tried to butt her arm with his head, but the spell had sapped away all of his physical strength. The sorceress looked down at him and chuckled.

"Oh, you are too cute, sweetie! Perhaps I'll keep you like this." She wrapped her arm around the soft, woolen creature and held him close as she searched his clothes with the other hand and pulled out his books. The regular textbook was closed over a thick book and a notebook.

"Mopey, angst-ridden poetry?" she guessed. "Pornography?"

The sheep struggled in her arm; she tightened her grip, squashing the animal's face to her bosom.

"Let's see." The sorceress opened his textbook to expose the journal's cover. "Now, what could this be?"

At that moment, the spell wore off and Kael morphed into his human form, completely naked. He struggled to push away from her.

"You bitch!" he growled. "If you-"

Mina pressed her hand to his forehead and sent another bolt; Kael's protests turned into more bleats.

"Now, let's see what this is all about, shall we, honey?" Mina flipped through the pages and stopped on the one that showed the elf named Illidan. "Hrm, didn't know you were into _this_ type of pornography," she purred, running her claws across the picture. "You have good taste."

The sheep struggled and managed to wrest itself free from her arms. It nuzzled back into the clothes, waiting somewhat impatiently for the spell to wear off again.

Mina turned the pages and came to the picture of Dath'Remar. "Amazing," she said. She turned and held the book up, mockingly comparing the artwork to Kael's ovine form. "He looks exactly like you, sparky," she said, and she began to laugh.

Kael made a noise that was close to a growl.

The sorceress turned back to the book and flipped to the page that showed the tattoos. "Oh, I see," she said. "You're looking up your ancestors to decide what to get done for your Reda'nas." She frowned. "That's nothing to be defensive about. I'm wondering what I'm going to get done myself." After a moment, she squinted. "Does that line go across the testicles? Ouch."

Kael's body suddenly morphed back to its elven form. He thrust his hands in front of his body and recited the spell to drain magical energies. A glowing blue haze surrounded his friend. Mina cried out, then slumped to the floor. She tried to lift her head but her body was weakened. Kael closed his eyes as her energies flooded his veins and mingled with the fires of the Sunwell he had called upon to cast the spell.  
Mina groaned and tried to look at him, but she was too weak.

"Don't ever -- ever -- treat me like that again, woman," growled Kael as he straightened his robes and tied the sash in place; he paced forward and snatched the books from her arms. They slammed shut as he tucked them under his arm.

Mina finally managed to lift her head; her eyes were damp and narrow. "What the hell did you do to me?" she demanded.

"Drained your magics lest you turn me into a sheep again." The prince smiled maliciously. "Calm down, honey," he mocked. "It'll wear off soon."

Mina stared.

Kael sneered and turned. His boots echoed against the hollow floor, and the door slammed behind him.

 

 

Kael was halfway back to his room when he suddenly dropped to one knee. His hand pressed to his face, his thumb at one temple and his little finger at the other. Shuddering breaths rocked his body. Other students, who were milling by between classes and meetings, stepped carefully around the fallen prince. No one had ever seen him weep, and no one wanted a part in whatever had moved him so. It was nearly twenty minutes before he regained control of his body again; he teleported quickly to his room and locked the door.

He wasn't to sleep that night. Every muscle quivered with the magic it had tasted earlier that day, and when he closed his eyes, he saw the spells he had already memorized, floating in his field of vision in the ancient Elven alphabet. The hallucinations grew until he saw Dath'Remar, standing before him. The elf was more than a foot taller than Kael, and his long hair whirled and flapped about his naked body. He said nothing, but gripped Kael's wrist and drew him forward.

The prince watched, transfixed, as his ancestor guided his hand. Kael's fingernail traced every branch of the tattoos along the man's body. In several places, the claw drew blood; the liquid was a deep velvet. The prince closed his eyes and breathed through his mouth. He could feel power emanating from the man, and it was similar to the delicious magic of the Sunwell he had tasted earlier in the day, but stronger, more pure.

Now Dath'Remar put his hands on his descendant's shoulders and leaned in close.

"You will be the one," he whispered, "who will return the high-borne to their former glory."

His kiss was warm, soft and fleeting, then he disappeared.

Kael lifted his head and blinked as the hallucinations cleared. He sat at his desk; he had apparently fallen asleep with his head resting against it. Before him were six scattered pages. There were pencilled pictures of Dath'Remar's tattoo, with delicate notes in a hand that was not his own. The prince stared, then gathered them and flipped through them. The details were precise enough that if he were to hand them to his own Reda'nas artist, the tattoos could be replicated exactly.

Then he noticed that blood had smeared on several of the pages. The elven prince looked down at his forefinger and his hand began to shake. The claw was crusted with deep violet blood.

Kael stood so quickly that he knocked his chair over. He took several cautious steps backwards, then turned and fled the room.

He spent the night in the library, pacing. The next morning he locked both the journal and the notebook in the strong box and left quickly before he could change his mind.

Mina opened her door when he knocked. Her hair and makeup were mussed with sleep and tears. She stared at him for a moment, then looked down and tried to close the door. Kael held it open.

"Mina," he said, and he held out the key to the strong box. "I have a favour to ask of you."

The elf glared at him from under swollen, black-streaked eyelids. "You have no right to ask me for a favour," she snapped, and she tried to slam the door again. Kael pressed his weight into it; he bowed his head.

"Bolomina Autumnleaf," he said nobly, "as your prince, I request that you take this key and guard it with your life." He fought the urge to drop to one knee and beg for forgiveness. "Don't let me have it back unless Quel'Thalas is in imminent danger, no matter how much I beg."

Her glowing blue eyes were wide. "Why would Quel'Thalas be in danger?" she whispered. "What are you talking about?"

Kael gripped her wrist and forced the key into her closed fist. "Promise me," he whispered, "that you will keep it from me, and not tell another soul about this."

"Okay," she said finally, her voice hoarse.

Kael ran his knuckle along the woman's narrow jaw in a quick apology for his bizarre actions. "Thank you," he whispered. Mina stared at him, her mouth hanging open, as he walked away.

 

 

 


	12. Book One - XI

 

 

  **XI**

 

Deranis' first clue that something was amiss with Jaina's story was a birthday parcel that arrived from her father two days into the week.

"Why would he send her a parcel, then ask her to come visit?" asked Sallia as she stared blankly at the parcel.

"I suppose he wanted to surprise her when she gets back," said Deranis dryly. She sat the package on Jaina's bed for her return.

Her immediate thought was that Jaina had escaped with Uther for a week-long getaway. Two days later, however, she saw the paladin in the marketplace.

Her next thought that Jaina was seeing Syrius and had disappeared with him. She had no reason in particular for the theory -- indeed, she couldn't see what the blonde would see in the womanizer -- but it, too, was foiled when Syrius came to visit the next evening. He was on his way back from escorting Muradin out of town when he decided to drop by and see his cousin.

"Where's Prince Arthas lately, anyway?" asked Sallia as she sat on the divan next to her cousin and poured him a glass of wine.

"Oh, he's shacked up with his servant girl," said Syrius dismissively. The frown on his face showed that he wasn't pleased by the prospect.

"I'll go slice some bread and cheese," said Loti quickly; she scurried from the room.

"Servant girl?" Deranis raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, her name's Molly. I told him that a man of his class shouldn't be seen with his servant, but he's too stubborn." Syrius paused to take a long sip of the wine, then set the glass on the table. "Now he's disappeared to the Cliffs for a week, and I guarantee you she's there with him." He shook his head and gave a low, disgusted grunt.

The curly-haired woman's mouth dropped and she leaned closer.

"He's gone to the Cliffs for a week."  
Syrius furrowed his dark brows. "Yes." He wondered why she seemed so shocked.

Deranis started laughing; she slapped Sallia's arm. "I can't believe you had me thinking she was with Lord Uther!" she cried. "It was so obvious!"

Loti quickly poked her head into the room. "Deranis, can you come help me prepare?" she asked pointedly.

"In a minute." Deranis wiped her eyes with her hands. "Oh, Lord, and they staged that little shunned kiss to fool us all. Jaina thinks she's pretty smart, doesn't she?"

Sallia's brows were furrowed. "What?"

Now Syrius caught on to what Deranis was implying; he narrowed his eyes. "That bastard! I actually felt bad for trying to set him up with Jaina, too!"

"What's going on?" asked Sallia, confused.

Deranis turned to her with a grin on her face. "Jaina's screwing Prince Arthas."

Sallia stared for a moment, then let out a shriek so bloodcurdling that Syrius and Deranis jumped away from her. The woman leapt to her feet and began to jump up and down in a manner that resembled a small child who needed to use the facilities.

"This is so exciting!" she shrieked. "They make such a perfect pair! Just think; Jaina will be the Queen of Lordaeron!"

Loti strode into the room and stood before the woman, her hands on her hips.

"You are not to tell anyone of this," said the elf abruptly. "None of you are," she added, turning to address all of them. "Jaina doesn't want the world knowing about her love life, and as her friends, we should respect that wish."

"You knew about this?" asked Deranis.

"Don't worry," said Syrius. "I won't tell anyone. It's Sallia you have to worry about; she'll squeal it to everyone she knows."

"Of course not," said Sallia, and she sat on the couch, her hands folded in her lap. "I can keep a secret."

Loti glared at them for a moment longer, then returned to the kitchen to fetch some food.

 

 

At the weekly Council meeting of the Kirin Tor, Kael leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest as the magic's withdrawal symptoms hit him for the third time that day.

It had been three days since he had locked away the book, and the withdrawal symptoms were worsening. The hallucinations had finally stopped that morning, but they had been replaced by constant jitters and aches. His head pounded and his senses whirled.

Bolomina looked sideways at Kael when he began to shiver. Between his sudden outburst a few days earlier and his continuing strange behaviour, she was growing concerned. Though, truthfully, this concern was somewhat dwarfed by a longing to see him suffer; she still hadn't forgiven him for attacking her. So, she watched over him with a sort of half-hearted, apathetic worry, like an older sibling looking after an annoying kid brother.

The prince's face was pale and his lips trembled. The sorceress wrote on the paper before and slid it across the table.

"You okay, sugar?" it read.

Kael gritted his teeth and edged away from her; her half-hearted attention annoyed him even more than her usual indifference. He focussed on the Archmage, who held the floor, but his vision divided in two. His hand flew to the paper before he knew what he was doing.

"Give me the key," his pen scratched; he slid the paper back to Mina. She shot him a raised eyebrow and scribbled something, then slid it back.

"I'm going to enjoy making you beg, sexy," she'd written, and she'd doodled an enormous smiling face that filled the bottom half of the paper.

Kael growled and wrapped his arms tighter around his torso. Well, if he couldn't have access to new magic, he would just have to make do with the spells he already knew. It wouldn't take more than an hour to ride far enough from Dalaran to avoid detection by other mages, and he could cast the fire pillar spell several times in a row until the withdrawal faded. He began to stand.

"Prince Kael," said the Archmage's voice. "Going somewhere?"

"Just stepping outside for a moment, Master," said Kael with a respectful nod of the head.

"Well, hold up a minute. This concerns you." The Archmage raised an eyebrow; the elven prince gritted his teeth and sat down. Antonidas smiled and turned to the rest of the Council.

"As we all know," began the elderly man, "Mage Jenning is severely ill, which is unfortunate not only for him, but for the applicants to the Kirin Tor. He is a prominent judge on the panel, and we surely cannot judge new applicants without his insight." He cleared his throat. "Unfortunately, we have received notice from the King himself that we are to continue with the examinations in spite of Jenning's absence. So, I would like to move that Jenning be replaced by two respected members of the council who are at the top of their classes and have each spent more than fifteen years dedicated to half-time study here with the Kirin Tor." He smiled and spread his arms, lifting his chin to look at the elven prince and his friend.

Mina let out a small gasp and gripped the prince's sleeve; Kael closed his eyes and sighed.

"Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider and Lady Bolomina Autumnleaf, you are cordially offered positions on the judging panel," said the Archmage, and the other members of the Council began to applaud.

Kael stood, forcing a shaky bow. "I would be honoured, Archmage," he said.

"I as well, Master," said Mina; she curtsied, trying to contain her excitement at the unexpected honour.

"Excellent." The Archmage waved for silence. He turned to his assistant. "Brighton, send word to Lord Uther. The exams will take place in the examination room at Town Hall at his earliest convenience."

Kael's face darkened. His physical discomfort left his mind as he suddenly thought of Jaina. He stared at the Archmage, his eyes wide and his brows lowered, until Mina tugged his sleeve to urge him to sit.

The rest of the meeting dragged for nearly an hour; the instant it ended, the prince rushed down the stairs and stood by his mentor.

"Master," he greeted with a bow; between the sprint and the withdrawal, he was slightly out of breath.

"Kael." The Archmage smiled. "I'm glad we have this occasion to offer you the position. Your research as of late has been promising indeed, and I think that you have great future here."

"Milord," said Kael, still bowed, "what has Lord Uther to do with the exams?"

The Archmage leaned on his staff; it was an effort to remaining standing through Council meetings, and this one had been exceptionally long.

"As a member of the judging panel, I suppose you deserve to know: Prince Arthas has a talented young friend who should be within our ranks. I hear that her talents are so incredible that we will recognize her immediately." He didn't normally give favours, but he did owe Uther one. The whole situation gave him a headache. Non-sorcerers seemed to think that a sorcerer could tell if a person had magical talents just by looking at them. The truth was that unless a person exuded incredible power, a sorcerer could only understand a person's capabilities through demonstration. The Archmage was not looking forward to having every single female applicant demonstrate their knowledge. Perhaps he could convince Uther to give him a name lest the examinations be extended threefold.

"This friend. What was her name?" asked the elven prince hoarsely.

"I do not know; Lord Uther refuses to tell me." The Archmage smiled tensely, eager to part ways; the elf's unusual demeanour as of late was disturbing. "Until later, Prince Kael," he said pointedly.

The elf stared, then turned and drifted aimlessly towards the door. Once in the hallway he sank to his knees.

It had to be Jaina; there was no other possibility. A 'friend?' His palms pressed into the cold stone and he dropped his head, letting out a low sigh. He tried to cheer himself up: she had sworn Arthas would never touch her; she wouldn't lie to him...

"I didn't think the honour of joining the judging panel would depress you."

The elven prince looked up to see Mina. The woman kneeled beside the other.

"So, Prince of Angst, what's the problem now?"

Kael pushed himself to a stand and brushed the dust from his robes. "Just overcome with joy, I suppose," he said bitterly. "Mina, you haven't heard anything about a relationship between Prince Arthas and Jaina, have you?"

Mina tilted her head. "You automatically assume that this talented newcomer is Jaina?"

"She has phenomenal powers. It must be her." Kael let out a low, pained sigh.

"She left you for Prince Arthas? Huh. Didn't think she was the power-grubbing type." The sorceress hesitated as she realized that Kael's face had fallen; she winced. "I'm sorry, sugar. That was insensitive." She had been trying to go easier on him after their altercation a few days earlier, more for her safety than for his benefit.

"So you've heard nothing, then?" whispered Kael.

"Of course not. You know I'd tell you right away if I did." Her delicate hand rested on his shoulder. "Don't worry, hon. The kingdom would know if such a couple existed, I can guarantee that."

"Thanks." Kael sighed, and his head dropped. Mina recognized his tone; she caught his chin.

"Don't do anything stupid," she said tersely. "Go relax."

There was only one thing that would help him relax at that moment.

"I don't suppose you'll give me the key?" he asked.

Mina laughed and shook her head. "Nice try."

"I can't go to Kalnaka. I have class tomorrow," protested the prince.

"It's only a few hours' ride to Strahnbrad, and it's early," she retorted. "You'll be back in time. Go see her."

"If I didn't know better, I'd think she paid you commission to convince me to go to her," muttered Kael.

Mina dropped her hand from his chin and ran her palm along his jaw line. "I just don't like to see my prince sad, because he's so much more handsome when he smiles," she said in a false sultry tone.

Kael let out a noise of disgust; he clutched his notepad to his chest and began to walk toward the exit. He would, indeed, go to Kalnaka: maybe her warm embrace would shield his mind from the tremours running through his body.

  

 

He arrived in Strahnbrad that evening.

Kalnaka opened the door wearing red leotards that connected to her red leather thong with tiny straps. Her corset was black and shiny; it was a size too small, and her large breasts overflowed from the top in unflattering fleshy swells. Her long brown hair was gelled into tight curls. Ruby lipstick lined her lips, making them appear unnaturally large and heavy; her brows were slathered with bright blue eye shadow.

Kael stared. Kalnaka stared back, her mouth open. She slowly began to close the door. Kael slammed it open.

"What the hell are you doing?" His voice was dangerous, and his eyes glowed white; she reflected that she hadn't seen them otherwise for some time.

The woman dropped her chin and sighed. "I'm expecting a client, Kael," she said with the patronizing tone Jaina had used when she had told the elven prince that there was nothing between her and Arthas.

The prince slammed the door shut and strode towards her. His shiny red boots echoed against the floor. The brunette backed away, her eyes wide.

"I gave you thirty thousand gold," he said ferociously.

"I won't accept it," said the woman. "I appreciate the thought, Kael, I do, but I can't accept charity." Her hands balled into fists at her sides. "Your gold is on the table."

The elf paced slowly towards her, his footsteps silent.

"You want to be a whore," he hissed. "You'd look for any excuse to do so."

"Calm down, Kael," she whispered. "Please. You're scaring me."

The prince had her back against a wall now. His eyes flashed and he put a hand to her cheek. His sharp thumbnail ran across her plump lower lip.

"You want to be treated like a whore, Kalnaka?" he intoned.

The woman thrust her knee upwards, aiming for his groin. She missed, but hit a nerve in the elf's thigh. Kael cried out; he doubled over and clutched at the muscle, then fell to his knees, hissing. Kalnaka sank to the ground before him. She tried to hold back her sobs; they came out as small hiccups.

"Take your gold and leave, Kael," she implored.

The prince lifted his head; his teeth were bared. "You are not a whore!" he said, too loudly for their proximity.

"Stop it," sobbed Kalnaka.

There was a rap at the door. The pair turned their heads.

"That's my client," whispered Kalnaka. She choked back her tears and rubbed at her eyes; kohl smudged onto her hands. "I...I can't see him like this."

Kael pushed himself to his feet and staggered to the door, clutching his locked muscle. He swung the door open so hard that it slammed against the wall and the man outside jumped.

The elven prince eyed the man. He was tall and well-muscled aside from a slight paunch; his dress was immaculate and he smelled clean enough, but his enormous mustache and cocked eyebrow gave the elven prince the impression that he would not treat Kalnaka well.

"This is the house of Mistress Kalnaka?" asked the man, startled. His voice was pinched and tinged with a tone that showed he thought quite highly of himself.

"Yes." Kael bared his teeth. "I am her brother."

The man squinted. "The ad didn't say anything about her being an elf," he said contemptuously.

The prince stepped through the door and slammed it shut behind him. He gripped the man's lapels; the motion startled the man, and he stuttered for words. Kael sneered.

"You and I are both busy men, Sir..." He trailed off.

"Garithos," said the man, looking rather as if he had stepped in a sewage ditch by mistake.

"Garithos," repeated Kael. "Yes, we both know life is short, Sir Garithos. Too short to arrange for another source of pleasure when one is already in the mood, correct? So it is with a certain compassion that I regret to inform you that Kalnaka is not available tonight. I truly feel your pain. So, I can recommend a well-reputed prostitute not far from here." The elven prince pulled out his coin purse and poked through it. "Here, I'll even give you the gold to pay for her, as I don't like to see my sister's customers inconvenienced."

The man hesitated. "Is this other whore elven?" he asked, suspicious. Kael's lips flared at the man's obvious racism, but he forced himself to smile.

"Afraid of elves, I see." The prince bowed, courteous. "I should have guessed; elven women are accustomed to us well-endowed elven men, and hence tend to burst into laughter when they see you piddly humans naked."

Garithos' moustache twitched.

"Ah, so the humans laugh at you too, do they?" said Kael cordially.   
"Perhaps I can recommend a dwarf-woman or a gnome? They're probably more accustomed to a man of your diminutive endowment."

He didn't even see the fist coming. His head snapped into the door with the impact. He blinked, trying to clear his vision as he slid down the door. A sharp boot connected with his ribs, then darkness overcame him.

 

 

The elven prince gradually became aware of the aches in his body as he floated back to consciousness. His ribs ached, his stomach churned, and his face throbbed. He groaned and his eyelids fluttered; he clutched at his head and opened his eyes to see that he was in the bathtub. Kalnaka knelt by the tub, wiping the makeup from her tearstained face with cupped hands. She noticed he was awake; something akin to a smirk flitted across her distraught features.

"You're a mage, Kael. Don't ever try to best a knight in a fist fight again."

Kael winced and pressed his fingers to his face, trying to determine the damage. His nose was still intact, but his cheek was swollen, as was one of his eyes.

"He was a jackass, Kalnaka," he muttered.

The woman didn't look at him; she continued to wash her face in the water. Streams of blue and red makeup residue floated across the water, disappearing before they reached his body. He stared at the fading rivulets.

"He doesn't like elves," added Kael after a moment, his voice so quiet she almost didn't hear.

The woman leaned back to sit on her haunches; she stared down at him and her arms folded over her chest. He couldn't read her expression.

"What's happened to you, Kael?" she said finally. "You used to be...sane." After a moment, she added, "Are you drunk?"

"No." Kael's eyes began to water. He sighed and dropped his face into his hands, then jerked away as he realized the skin was still tender. A tear trailed down his cheek.

"I love you, Kalnaka," he whispered, his gaze focussed firmly on the water before him.

The brunette's jaw tensed. For a moment, she stared, and he wondered if she had heard him properly. Then she uncurled from her position and moved so that she sat beside him; her bare legs dangled into the bathtub. Her finger lifted his chin and she stared into his eyes.

"Listen to me carefully, Kael," said the woman tersely. "I will only say this once. You love Jaina, not me. I know I remind you of her, but I'm not her. Stop expecting me to be like her, and stop confusing your love for her with love for me."

His chin quivered in her hand; the motion was so distressing that she let it fall and withdrew.

"Do you love me?" whispered the prince.

Kalnaka held his gaze. "I pity you," she said with no hint of emotion.

Kael's chin dropped; he stared absently at the water, his vision blurring with tears.

"I'm going to bed," said Kalnaka tersely. She stood. "Your gold's on the table. I expect you to take it and leave before I wake up, as quietly as always. Don't ever come here again."

She stood and strode to the lamp, then blew it out and paced to the bed. She slid between the covers, still dressed in her lingerie, and pulled the duvet over her ears to muffle out Kael's sobs.

 

 

Kalnaka's sleep was plagued with nightmares, and she awoke tangled in bed sheets. Her skin dripped with sweat. She sat up, groggy, and turned to light the lamp beside the bed. A short bath would clean her up and give the bed time to dry, then she could sleep in peace until morning. She tried not to think of the elven prince; it would be easiest if she pretended she had never known him.

But Kael was curled up on the floor beneath the kitchen table. The woman stared. Why had he chosen there to fall asleep, of all places? She reflected guiltily that he had nowhere else to stay in Strahnbrad -- but why under the table?

The woman sighed. She drew the bath and set a candle beside it. Her eyes slid closed as she slid into the still warm water.

Kalnaka had to admit that the prince's reaction to Garithos had been welcome; it was flattering that he was willing to come to blows to protect her. Besides, if she allowed herself to admit it, there was something attractive about innocent, polite Kael losing his temper -- no, going psychotic -- over her choices. She had always thought him a bit of a doormat, and she did like that about him, but it was oddly arousing to see him angry and violent.

If she allowed herself to admit it, she was pleased with everything he had said and done that day.

When the woman turned her head, she could see his gentle white glowing eyes, across the room. The rest of him was cloaked in the shadow of the table. She sighed.

"Come here, Kael," she whispered.

The prince crawled out from under the table and stood, wavering with fatigue. His black eye was visible even in the dim light, and she could tell by the way he moved forward that his ribs were bruised. His normal movements were cat-like, but now he hobbled in a way that made him seem strangely human.

She pulled herself out of the tub to stand by him; the water glistened as it ran down her naked body. Kael stood before her and stared at the water pooling around her bare feet.

The woman slid her hands along his neck and pressed against him as she moved in for a kiss; the liquid from her body sopped into his robes, but he didn't mind. Her mouth was warm and her damp hands clawed into his hair. She pulled back and looked at him with an expression he had never seen before.

Her mouth stayed closed in a frown the entire time she undressed him, save for when her lips sought gentle kisses from his mouth. He stood still before her, unmoving and silent; only his lips yielded to her. She peeled off the last layers of clothing and pressed her soft body against him, and only then did he whimper. Kalnaka was curious; she had never heard him whimper, just hiss and groan.

Her hand dropped to his groin. He caught her wrist and moved it gently away. She pulled back to look at him; there were tears in his eyes.

"You aren't a whore, Kalnaka," he whispered. "You deserve better."

The woman stared; the elf bowed his head to stare at their bare feet. The puddle of water had spread to soak his feet, too.

"You're right," whispered the prince. "I don't love you; I love Jaina. I was confused." He let out a low sigh. "You don't deserve to be used, Kalnaka."

The brunette gripped his jaw with her hands.

"You aren't using me." She gave a wry smile. "If I remember correctly, I threw myself at your feet when I first met you. I played up every ounce of Jaina I had in me to coax you to bed."

"Did you?" asked Kael, and he looked at her.

"Got you drunk, let you weep on my shoulder -- you didn't stand a chance." The woman ran a hand down either side of his face to his chest. "Little did I know that you'd never be mine -- not entirely."

The prince didn't reply at first. Finally he murmured, "There is only one woman to whom I would dare give more of myself. If I had met you before her, things might be different."

The woman's smile was sad. "I see," she whispered.

There was no discussion that night, and no sex. Kalnaka gently soaped Kael's upper body, taking extra time to massage his soft skin. Then she lifted each of his legs, one at a time, and washed them down to the toes. He washed her next, lingering at her breasts, gently lathering her groin, and when he was done she stood and pressed her body against his. The prince pulled her tightly into his embrace; she was soft and warm. She buried her face in his slender, curved collarbone.

"I love you, Kael," she breathed, and he could tell by her voice that she wept.

He stroked the back of her head and pressed his lips into her chocolate hair.

"Then we can no longer be together," he whispered.

When she woke up the next morning, he was gone. He hadn't taken the gold. Kalnaka weighed one bar in her hand, then set it back on the table.

There was a good chance he would be back. Their last "permanent" separation had been more than two months ago, well before he was to see Jaina again. He had come back to her then; why shouldn't he come back now?

She sighed and sat on a chair. Her elbows pressed to the table and she buried her face in her hands. If only she could be her sister, life would be so much easier.

 

 

Her sister was, indeed, enjoying an easy life. Each night the lovers lit a fire in the fireplace and then huddled under the covers in the bed -- although it was still summer, the Cliffs were always windy and cold -- and talked and made love until their bodies finally fell asleep. They'd awake in the morning in each other's arms and talk and make love until they finally decided it was time to get out of bed. The servants were more than willing to make meals only when they were asked, so there was no set schedule for the first time in Jaina's life. The days were lazy and long, and the blonde had never been happier.

It helped that her studies were progressing at an unusually rapid rate. It was much easier to study here without the distractions of home, and she was less likely to waste time daydreaming about Arthas if her head rested on his chest as she read. By the end of the week, she had almost finished the entire fourth year curricula. The fifth year was the last year of study with the Kirin Tor before a student moved on to specialized research classes; the thought made her laugh. She really would finish the entire curricula before she was accepted.

On the last day of the week Jaina lay on her stomach on the grass, making careful notes in the margins of the last pages of her new book with a fountain pen. Her feet dangled in the air above her bare backside, and one hand picked idly at the bright green grass beside her. Arthas examined her expression; her eyes squinted slightly as she read, and occasionally her lips moved with the words. Her head would bob in a tiny nod each time she paused to make a note. He had been observing this behaviour often during the previous week, and it never failed to entertain him when she followed her unconscious pattern.

It was a few minutes before she noticed he was watching; she looked up.

"The Holy Book isn't engaging enough for you?" she asked.

"I'd much rather study you," replied the prince. The blonde raised an eyebrow.

"I gave you too much credit; I never though you'd stoop to corny lines like that." She rolled onto her back, and his eyes immediately drifted to her naked breasts. The prince set the book down and stretched out perpendicular to her; he pressed his cheek between the warm globes. Jaina ran her hand through his hair and smiled, staring up at the blue sky. After a moment, Arthas rolled onto his stomach and rested his stubbled chin on her abdomen.

"I want to make love to you," he announced.

"Twice in one day?" Jaina sucked in a breath of air and shook her head with mock horror. "Land's sakes, Arthas, we're going to have to do something about that uncontrollable libido of yours."

"Blame that blasted book," said Arthas; he cocked his head back toward the Holy Book. "Reading about who begat who for chapters on end has me thinking of nothing but sex." His eyelids dropped into a lazy blink as he tried to look innocent, even though the sharply angled brows never allowed such a thing. "I'm just being a devoted pupil."

"With a comment like that, you are most definitely going to hell." Jaina closed her eyes; the sun turned the inside of them bright red. "I'm too sleepy too make love."

"You just have to lie there."

The woman opened one eye to squint at him. "To keep up with the likes of you, Arthas, a woman has to be a bloody acrobat." She snorted and the eye closed again. "You'd think that your illness would tone your athleticism down a notch, but-- Ow!"

Arthas delicately removed his teeth from her nipple and raised a challenging eyebrow at her.

"Good Lord," she muttered, and her arm rose to cover her eyes. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you part cannibal." After a moment, she added, "Have you any idea what the word 'gentle' means?"

"Gentle? Isn't that a synonym for 'boring?'" His teeth gently pinched the skin above her navel.

Jaina sighed and lowered her arm to glare at him. "You aren't even in the mood," she accused with a smile. "You're just pretending so that you have an excuse to bother me."  
"Well, maybe," admitted Arthas. He sat up. "I don't know how you can read for so many hours on end. I'm going cross-eyed."

The woman sat up, too, and pulled her shirt on. "Then why don't you practice your swordsmanship?" she asked. After a moment, she added a bit shyly, "I'd love to watch." He had showed off his skills to her the day before, and thinking of his fluid, powerful movements still made her limbs tingle.

"I'd love to, but I'm still sore from yesterday." He sighed, annoyed by his ill body's limitations. "I'm bored."

Jaina chuckled. "Well, I'm about to finish this book, anyway, so perhaps we should go to the hot springs for a bit to soothe your aching sword fighting muscles." She leaned across to squeeze his bicep. Arthas grunted and stood.

"Shouldn't the fourth-year spell book take one year to complete, not one week?"

Jaina smiled and stood, too. "Yes, well..." She blushed as she realized what she had forgotten to mention. "Did I ever tell you that Uther is writing to Antonidas to have him bump forward the entrance exams?"  
"Really?" asked Arthas, and his stomach dropped even though his voice was casual.

"Yes." Jaina smiled. "I expect there will be a date released by the time we return." She had butterflies in her stomach just thinking about it.

"Jaina," said Arthas softly, "what's going to happen when you're accepted?"

The prince sounded so insecure and afraid that Jaina looked up at him, half expecting to see that a smile child had taken his place. He stared at her, his turquoise eyes wide and mournful. The blonde smiled sadly and put her hand to his jaw, drawing him in for a short kiss. She drew away only a few centimetres and stared intently into his eyes.

"We'll deal with that when it happens," she whispered firmly.

As they walked down the hill to the springs, Jaina couldn't help but grow excited about the exams. Would they place her in a higher year level? Now she wondered what year of study Kael was in. She knew he only spent half a year with the Kirin Tor, and he couldn't have been accepted much before he was twenty. It would be amusing if she were placed in higher classes than him. It occurred to her that she really hadn't spent much time thinking about her friend lately; she wondered how he was holding out.

"How old is Prince Kael'thas?" she asked Arthas at dinner that night. He nearly choked on his food, but composed himself to answer.

"I'm not sure; the elves don't discuss such things."

"Older than us?" she persisted.

"Yes, I imagine, by at least a few years." The high elves lived well past two-hundred years, while Arthas' father, in his late nineties, was considered to have remarkable longevity for a human. Thus, the elves aged at a different rate than humans. Arthas' eyebrows twitched and he couldn't help adding, "And yet I've still accomplished more in my life than he."

Jaina stared. "You aren't still jealous of him?"  
"How can I not be?" muttered Arthas. After a moment, he dropped his gaze from hers and added, "you'll be with him all the time, while I'm left alone in the Capital City."

The woman knew she should say something to soothe his anxieties, but she was feeling them herself. It was becoming fast apparent that they would have to make some decisions about their relationship, and soon, but she wanted to delay that as long as possible.

She stood and moved to engulf him in an embrace from behind. Arthas let out a long breath of air and leaned back. They were silent for a moment.

Then Arthas told her of the encounter where he had nearly killed Kael. It was the last secret he had hid from her, and he suddenly felt the need to confess. He explained how the rage had overcome his body, and how something akin to pride coursed through his veins as he looked down at his fallen rival.

Jaina's arms tensed, but she didn't let go. When he had finished describing the incident, she pressed her cheek to the back of his head.

"Whatever led you to hate him so?" she whispered.

"I don't know," said Arthas softly. "We have known one another for so long that I can't recall any specific reason."

Jaina sighed. "And here I am in the middle of it." She pulled back and moved to sit at her chair. Her appetite had vanished; she absently pushed the food around the dish with her fork. After a minute, she lifted her head.

"Who attacked first?"

Arthas dropped his chin. "I did," he whispered. He was going to add that the elf had provoked him, but decided this would be childish.

The woman stared evenly at him. "Do you regret it?" she asked.

"No." Arthas stared at the plate of meat on the table below him.

She watched for a moment, then began to slice her meat into tiny pieces. "At least you're honest," she murmured; her voice trembled.

Arthas lifted his chin; his upper lip curled into a sneer. "Your turn to confess," he said, a hint of a growl in his voice. "Do you still love him?"

Jaina's hands froze. Arthas waited; when she didn't answer, he pushed himself away from the table and threw his hands in the air.

"Wonderful," he snapped. "I should have known." He stood and began to pace to the bed.

Jaina set down her knife and fork. "I didn't answer right away," she said, "because it was obviously a baited question."

Arthas fell back onto the bed and folded his arms over his chest. Jaina sighed and stood; she padded to the bed and slid to a seat beside him. The prince didn't look at her.

"I will always care for Kael," she whispered. "But I don't love him."

The prince looked up at her, trying to gauge her honesty. Her eyes were wide and watery, and her mouth was set into a tight line. He sighed and raised his hand to cup her cheek; she curled up beside him.

"Why is it so hard for you to believe me?" she whispered.

Arthas laced his fingers into her hair. "I suppose I have no self-confidence," he said, and she chuckled, then sniffled.

"You never seemed to lack it before."

Arthas ran his thumb across her lips and leaned in for a soft kiss. When he pulled back, his face was solemn.

"I can't shake the fear," he whispered, "that this week is the greatest happiness I will ever know, and the rest of my life will be meaningless in comparison." His lip trembled faintly. "I suppose that's why I'm so insecure."

Jaina let out a sigh. "I know," she murmured. He had almost hoped she would lie, just to reassure him; now he felt naked and exposed.

"Tomorrow is too soon to leave this place," breathed the blonde. "I don't want it to come."

Arthas nuzzled into her temple to breathe in her scent. "I know." His arms tightened around her.

"Do you think you might come often to Dalaran?" asked the woman.

"Every spare moment I have," replied Arthas. "Perhaps we can meet partway, in Strahnbrad or Andorhal or Stratholme. I'll buy us a house there, and we can make love there for hours on end."

"That sounds nice," she whispered, though she wondered how much spare time either of them would have.

One of the prince's broad hands gently slid down the back of her pants and cupped her rear and his thumb nestled between the cheeks to gently stroke her tailbone. She reflected that she had never been stroked there before; the sensation was pleasant. Her hand slid around his back to mimic the motion. Arthas looked down at her, a smile on his face.

"Shall we retire now?" he rumbled.

"Yes," she whispered.

The prince stood and moved the screen to the front of the fireplace. The fire was already dying, so after a moment's thought, he put another log onto it. It was always chilly at night at the Cliffs. When he returned to the bed, Jaina was under the covers. Arthas pulled off his clothes and slipped into bed beside her. She was naked, and her body was startlingly warm against his.

The woman wrapped an arm around him and pressed her ear to his chest. Her finger traced a route from his tailbone downwards and back again; her touch was feather light, and she could hear his heartbeat slow with each stroke. Arthas settled his arms around her and let out a slow, deep sigh.

"I never did get to stand at the edge of the cliffs," murmured the woman.

The prince closed his eyes. "Do you really want to ruin this week by standing on a piece of land that's associated with heartache and despair?"

"I suppose not." Her other hand slid between their bodies and she gently gripped him. There was a sharp intake of breath in response; he let it out slowly, tickling her forehead. His eyelids drooped.

"Arthas?" she whispered.

He grunted in response.

"Let's not sleep tonight," whispered Jaina. "Let's enjoy every moment until the morning comes."

Arthas nodded and hunched down to press his lips to her throat.

Despite their best efforts, they drifted to sleep at four in the morning.

They didn't talk much as they gathered their things and saddled the horses. There wasn't anything to say. Jaina wished that they would find out that the Kirin Tor exams would take place soon, but she guiltily recognized that this meant she was wishing for a sooner end to her relationship with Arthas. Arthas wished that Antonidas had rejected Uther's request, thus delaying Jaina's acceptance, but he guiltily recognized that this meant he was wishing to delay her happiness. And so they plodded back to the Capital City, their hearts heavy, without saying a word.

  

 


	13. Book One - XII

 

 

**XII**

 

The thick crowds that milled in the streets of the Capital city halted the procession of mages that evening. Antonidas surveyed the area, surprised. The streets of the city were never crowded unless the Prince returned from battle, and Lordaeron was not at war.

The crowds showed no signs of separating; there was only one way they were going to be able to get into the city now. Antonidas sighed and pulled his staff free, murmuring a spell under his breath. The crowd watched, amazed, as all dozen of the mages were teleported from sight.

The mages appeared in the lobby of their usual inn. The innkeeper let out a dreary sigh; he was accustomed to housing the enigmatic mages, and despised their tendency to show off their powers.

The group lined up as the innkeeper began to dispense keys to the rooms that had been booked. Mina turned to Kael and elbowed him.

"Want to share a room, hon?" she grinned, just to irk him.

Kael frowned intently across the room; the crowd was visible through the stained glass windows of the doors. "Why the hell are they all celebrating?" he growled.

Mina squinted. "Looks like a royal wedding, to me," she said without thinking.

Kael's flashing glare was so strong that Mina flinched, half expecting him to strike her. Instead, his hands curled into fists at his sides.

"I liked you better before you lost your sense of humour, Kael," she muttered.

The mage gritted his teeth and accepted the innkeeper's key.

When it was her turn, the sorceress snatched her key from the innkeeper's hand in such a way that her fingertips caressed his palm. "Thanks, sugar," she purred; the innkeeper blushed. The elven prince sighed and turned to walk up the stairs. Mina caught his shoulder.

"Come on," she said. "Let's go to the pub. I'll buy you a drink."

Kael glared suspiciously at her. The sorceress tilted her head, innocent. The truth of the situation was that she wanted to keep an eye on her friend lest he do anything stupid. She had a feeling that the gathered crowd would not be celebrating an event that would make Kael happy.

"Come on," she said, and she caught his arm and dragged him in the direction of the attached pub.

 

 

"What on earth?" asked Jaina. The main road to the Capital City was clogged with people. She stared at the crowd, wondering how they were going to sneak through. A young peasant at the front noticed the couple's approach and began to yell; soon the crowd parted into two, leaving a clear pathway. The yells and shouts were deafening.

"That's odd," said Arthas. "Usually no-one celebrates my return unless there's been a battle."

As they approached, they noticed that many people in the crowd bore baskets of flower petals. When the horses were in range, the crowd began to cheer; flower petals floated through the air.

"Everyone is going to see us together!" exclaimed Jaina, panicking. She pulled the hood of her new cloak further over her face and bowed her head.

"Just pretend you don't see them," said Arthas. "They'll think you're a servant girl."

There was no such luck.

"Long live Prince Arthas!" chanted the throng. "Long live Lady Jaina! Long live the future King and Queen of Lordaeron!"

"Oh, good Lord," muttered the prince. He cast a sidelong glance at Jaina; her jaw was trembling. She stared straight ahead.

"Don't worry," said Arthas, presuming she was shy. "Just wave and smile."

The blonde forced a tight smile and waved. The crowd began to cheer and shout praise for her and her father. The prince rode his horse closer to hers and leaned over to her.

"See? Nothing to worry about," he murmured. "They love you."

"I am no queen, Arthas," she snapped, and she urged the horse into a canter. Her lover stared after her for a moment, surprised, then hastened to ride beside her.

"Jaina-" he said.

"I am not a queen!" she said, raising her voice to be heard over the adoring chants of the villagers. "Make them stop!" Tears began to run down her face. Arthas stared for a moment, then slowed and turned his horse.

"My people," he greeted. "The lovely Lady Jaina and I thank you for your support. However, we have travelled long and far today and should like a moment's peace-" The rest of his speech was drowned by chants and cheers. Arthas trailed off, then sighed. He looked down at Jaina.

The blonde ignored his concerned gaze. She set her jaw and rode through the crowd to reach the front lawn of her house. There stood Sallia, Deranis and Loti. The woman dismounted and stood before them, her hands on her hips. The prince dismounted, too, and reached across to grab the reins of Jaina's horse lest the crowd startle it.

The blonde took two slow steps towards the elven woman and stabbed a finger into her chest.

"I trusted you, Lotimara!" she snarled.

"Calm down," said Loti coolly. "I had nothing to do with this."

"You're the only one who knew!" cried the blonde, and now her horse did start. Arthas wasn't sure quite what to do; he had never cared for any horse except his own, which was old and docile. A bit self-conscious, he gripped the reins and led the horses in a gentle circle, then stroked the beast's nose until it was quiet. The horse danced a little in place and whinnied.

"Lotimara didn't tell anyone," said Deranis softly. "It was Sallia's fault." When the brunette cast her friend a betrayed gaze, the curly-haired woman sighed and added, "and mine."

Jaina glared at Sallia; the woman took a step back.

"Look, Jaina," she said quickly, "I just got a little excited and told a few people, that's all. How was I to know the news would spread so quickly? It's just so wonderful!"

Jaina advanced on the woman. "You," she growled, "have taken something beautiful, something sacred, and ruined it completely! I hope you live the rest of your life with the guilt for what you have done weighing heavily upon your conscience."

"Jaina," said Arthas, somewhat confused. "Nothing's ruined." He put a hand on her shoulder; she knocked it away and stormed into the house. The others stared after her.

"Bloody hell," muttered the prince. He looked back at the horses, then at the door. Loti quickly stepped up and took the reins. Arthas nodded at her in thanks, then ran after Jaina. The elf stroked the antsy horse's nose, and it soon stood still.

"I feel terrible," whispered Sallia. She clasped her hands in front of herself and looked down.

"You should!" snapped Deranis. "You had no right to go blabbing about other people's personal lives-"

"Stop it, both of you," said Loti crossly. "You're both hypocritical, nosy bitches. You deserve every bit of what's coming to you."

She turned and began to lead the horses through the crowd. Her roommates stared after the quiet elf, stunned.

 

 

Jaina sat on her bed, her head in her hands. Arthas sighed and sat next to her; he awkwardly rubbed her back. He was never sure what to do around someone who was crying, and seeing the woman he loved weep was almost too much for him to bear. He fought the urge to flee the room.

"What's troubling you so much?" he asked finally.

"Don't you see?" she whispered. She wiped the tears from her face. "It's ending, Arthas. We're ending."

"What?" he asked, and his stomach twisted. She turned her bloodshot eyes to him.

"I never want to be queen, Arthas. Ever. I don't want to be in the public eye. I don't want people cheering for me because of my status or because of the man I share my bed with."

The prince's brows lowered. "I thought we were going to deal with this later," he murmured.

"It's just going to get harder to separate, Arthas," she said softly. "The longer we're together, the more attached-"

"Look," he interrupted. "You're overreacting. It was just one little burst of excitement; why shouldn't they be excited? I'm their prince. You're the daughter of one of the greatest men who ever lived. Of course the people are thrilled. They'll tire of us soon enough and let us get on with our lives."

Jaina pointed in the direction of the street, her chest heaving. "That throng is going to follow us any time we're together. They're going to cheer out our names, even if only one of us is there. There will be rumours about infidelity, or pregnancy, and we'll be the subjects of conversation in taverns. Everything is ruined, Arthas!"

The prince stood. "I don't want to deal with this right now," he said, exhausted. "I'll meet you at town hall at nine o'clock, alright? I'm sure this will all look different after some rest and some food."

She sighed and bowed her head.

"It'll be fine," he said, then he left. The crowd outside began to cheer and follow their prince to the castle, and Jaina's room was plunged into blissful silence.

 

 

Kael's jaw tightened. Bolomina's eyes widened and she swore. The chants had been muffled before, but now it was impossible to miss what the moving crowd was cheering.

The elven prince rushed to the window and threw open the shutters, praying he had heard wrong. He stared; his shoulders trembled. The crowds crowded around Prince Arthas as he pushed through them to get to the castle.

_Long live Prince Arthas! Long live Lady Jaina! Long live the future King and Queen of Lordaeron!_

"Kael," said Mina, and she stood to stand by him. She gripped his arm; its muscles strained and quivered beneath her grasp. The elven prince's eyes burned white and his breath came in shuddering gasps. He tried to slow his anger, but it erupted from the core of his body, taking control of his limbs. He whirled and jerked his arm from Mina's so quickly that she fell backwards.  
"Sorry," he whispered in a fleeting moment of sanity, then he fled from the pub.

When he finally regained control of himself, Kael realized that he had marched back into the inn was pounding on Antonidas' door. The door opened.

"Prince Kael," said the Archmage, taken aback by the elf's violent expression. "I was in the middle of conducting an important-"

"The woman you need to watch for in the exam tomorrow is Lady Jaina Proudmoore," said Kael quickly

"Yes, I gathered that she was Prince Arthas' mysterious friend from the chanting," said Antonidas irritably. "Now, if you'll excuse me-"

"She is extraordinarily talented." Kael leaned closer to the frail man. "She mastered the full entrance examination curriculum on her own, so I bought her the first year spell book. I'm certain she's mastered it by now."

"You were teaching a non-sorceress our magic?" asked the mage, and he stood to his full height; when not stooped, he was taller than the elf. "That is punishable by-"

"She is not a non-sorceress, Archmage. She is a sorceress, and the best I have ever seen." Kael's face was earnest, and Antonidas stared into the eyes. It was disconcerting; he wasn't sure where to look when the elf's eyes had no pupils. The changing eye was one elf trait he had never gotten used to, in all his years working closely with the race.

"What do you propose I do, then?" asked the Archmage calmly. His tone seemed to have a soothing effect on the elf, and the eyes faded once again to their normal blue.

"Take her through each year's curriculum, one year at a time. See how far she gets." Kael bowed his head, his usual humility returning to him as the anger left his body. "You won't regret it, Master."

Antonidas stared for a moment, then nodded.

"Very well; I will trust your instincts, Prince Kael; we shall see how talented this friend of yours is."

"Thank you, Master," said Kael, and he ducked away from the door.

The elven sorceress stood outside the door, waiting; the prince jumped.

"Mina!" he said, closing the door. "What are you-"

"You are pathetic," she said sadly.

The elven prince sighed and bowed his head. "She deserves to be accepted sooner, Mina, whether she wants help getting in or not."

"You mean that she deserves to be by your side, not his?" The sorceress sighed. "Didn't she insist that you weren't to aid her in any way? Correct me if I'm wrong, sugar, but she's going to be furious."

"I'm not proud of my actions, Mina," he whispered. "I don't need you to put into words the thoughts that are nagging my conscience already."

She tilted her head and sighed. "Come on, sugar. You left half your ale."

He looked up at her with damp eyes. The sorceress sighed again and hooked a strand of flaxen hair over his ear.

"You can't do anything about it, hon," she said. "Come on." She gently took his hand and began to lead him down the hallway. The prince stopped.

"I think I need to be alone, Mina," he whispered, tugging his hand free. The woman's glowing eyes flickered.

"Sugar..."

"I'll be alright," promised Kael softly; he turned and began to walk back to his room. Mina watched, torn, then decided she should give him his privacy; she would check on him later.

 

 

Uther was waiting for his disciple at the drawbridge to the castle; the castle gates slammed closed behind the prince as he entered, cutting off the obnoxious crowd. He strode forward, his brows lowered.

"Welcome back, Arthas," said the paladin. He cast the prince a sympathetic look. "I suppose it was bound to get out sooner or later. I'm afraid your father has heard, and he's terribly excited. He wants to see you immediately." He put an arm on the prince's shoulder and led him in the direction of the throne room.

"Marvellous," growled Arthas. "Let me guess: he's going to set up marriage agreements with the Lord Admiral."

Uther sighed. "He is eager to get you married, lad, and Jaina is probably the most suitable woman in the entire world to be the future queen of Lordaeron."

"The sooner the people of Lordaeron get that idea out of their head, the better!" snapped Arthas. He jerked out from under his mentor's arm and began to storm ahead; the paladin caught the prince's shoulder and turned him.

"I'm sorry, lad," said Uther, looking Arthas straight in the eye. "I wish that you could have a normal life, but you can't."

The prince folded his arms over his chest and dropped his chin. Uther was unsure how to interpret the other's demeanour, and even more unsure of what to say to allay it.

"I have some good news, lad," he said after a moment. "Antonidas arrived in the Capital City today. The entrance examinations will be held tomorrow."

"Well, isn't that perfect?" snapped Arthas, and he lifted his chin. "Now, on top of everything, she's going to be taken from the Capital City and thrust into the arms of that blasted elf."

Uther stared, and his eyebrows furrowed. Arthas sighed and dropped his face into his hand.

"Please leave, Uther," he growled.

The paladin watched the disciple for an instant, then shook his head and sighed. He turned and walked away without a word.

Arthas gritted his teeth and turned back to the drawbridge. It was lowered, and the doors to the throne room were open, a giant, dark maw. The prince bowed his head and strode forward. His boots were loud against the thick wooden planks of the bridge.

He kept his gaze at his feet as he strode to the centre of the enormous room and bowed on one knee before his father.

King Terenas waved for his son to stand. He stood too, somewhat shakily, and staggered over to his son. His hands were tight on the prince's shoulders as he pulled him in for a hug. Arthas' eyes flew open; his father hadn't hugged him since his childhood.

"Congratulations, my son!" said Terenas. "She is an admirable choice." He stared at his son, his eyes brimming with pride at his son's diplomatic skill.

Arthas pulled away. "With all due respect, Father, no choice has been-"

"I have written Lord Daelin asking him to join us for dinner next week," said the King. "We will invite young Lady Jaina, too, and Lord Uther, of course. Perhaps I can contact your sister to have her bring her family here to join us. It has been a long time since we saw them last, and I hear that young Barnabas is turning into quite the swordsman! Perhaps-"

"There's no need for any of this, Father," said Arthas quickly. "Lady Jaina is shy, and prefers not to have a fuss made about our relationship."

"There is no fuss here, Arthas," said the King, "just a celebration at the union of two such talented, promising youths!" He sighed and shook his head. "If only your dear mother could be here to see this."

"Yes, well," said Arthas, "if you'll excuse me, Father, I am a bit tired after my travels."

"Of course, my son." Terenas cupped his son on the cheek, then turned and returned to his throne, regaining his usual air of dignity. "You are dismissed."

Arthas waited until he was outside the doors to the throne room, then dropped his face into his hands. The whole display had been humiliating. Sometimes, he didn't know why his father bothered to pretend that he cared.

 

 

That night, the lovers went to Arthas' room in the castle. There wasn't much point in hiding their relationship now that it was common knowledge, and no one could follow them into Arthas' room. It seemed to be their last bastion of privacy in the city.

Jaina's hands trembled; she expected Arthas to be furious with her for her earlier outburst, but he smiled and patted the bed beside him. She sat, her chin low.

Arthas put an arm around her shoulder and nuzzled against her ear. "The entrance examinations are tomorrow," he whispered; her body tensed with what he assumed was excitement. "For tonight, let's forget everything that happened until now and just be foolishly in love, shall we?" He didn't need to say the words, but she understood: this was the last night they had together before any difficult decisions had to be made.

"Yes," she whispered. "Let's."

They lounged in bed for the first hour, eating grapes and cheese and chatting idly as they had done so many nights at the Cliffs. He opened two bottles of fine ale and, with some effort, toasted to her luck in the examinations. Their conversation was somewhat strained. Jaina was restless and antsy in anticipation of the morning, and she found it difficult to sit still. Arthas finally suggested she vent some energy with a tour of the castle. Though his weakened body was still exhausted from the travels, he figured he could manage the walk.

The building was large, far larger than it appeared even from the outside, and she gazed with awe at the rich tapestries, exquisite chandeliers, and the enormous mosaics that lined the raised ceilings. The hallways were tiled with rich marble and metal designs.

"The tiles are from Ironforge, but designed by a craftsman from Quel'Thalas," said Arthas; as he thought of Ironforge, he suddenly wondered what had become of the mallet his father was supposed to give him.

He led her to a long hallway lined with portraits. There were some that dated to nearly a thousand years old; their paints and canvas were cracked and disintegrating. Even these, ancient as they were, bore some resemblance to Arthas and his father.

"Are you anywhere in here?" asked Jaina shyly.

"I certainly am." Arthas took her hand and led her down the hallway. They stopped at the very end.

The portrait was one she had seen before; it was labelled as his twenty-first birthday. He looked a bit younger than now, but not much different. It was odd to see him without the thick scar at the bridge of his nose; thinking of it reminded her of the fight between Arthas and Kael, but she forced the thought from her mind.

Next to his portrait was a portrait of him as a young boy; she chuckled. The red-blond hair and freckles were just as she remembered, though the large nose and blooming jaw suggested that he was nearing his teen years. A woman stood next to him. She had red-blond hair, too, though less freckles, and her features were so slender that she almost looked elven.

"Is that your mother?" she asked. Arthas smiled sadly.

"No, my mother was deceased by then. That's my sister, Calia."

"I didn't know you had a sister," she said with surprise.

"Half-sister, by my father's first marriage. We were never close; she was once betrothed without her permission and when that fell through, she decided she wanted nothing more to do with royalty, but that's a long story. She lives with her family in Azeroth now, as far from us as she can get." He tugged her hand and led her to another portrait. "That's my mother." His voice was proud.

The woman's face was round and full-cheeked; Jaina recognized the dimpled grin and large, straight teeth immediately. Her eyes were a soft hazel, and her hair was a pale red; it cascaded gently to her shoulders. She was pleasantly plump, and her expression was kind. In her hands was a single white rose.

"She's beautiful," the blonde whispered, in awe.

"Would you like to see her grave?" asked Arthas suddenly.

Jaina turned to look at him, trying to determine if he was serious. His eyes were wide and solemn; though the idea unsettled her, she could tell it meant a lot to him.

"Okay," she replied softly.

The memorial gardens were windy and shadowed; pillars, some hundreds of years old, jutted along the pathway. Jaina stopped before one monument, amused; the man stood with one foot on a stone, his sword thrust defiantly in front of himself. His jutting jaw and proud expression were identical to Arthas. It was strange to read that the man had died two hundred years earlier.

"Doesn't it get disconcerting?" she asked. "Seeing all these portraits and monuments that are so strikingly similar to you?"

"Are they?" asked the prince, surprised.

"Look at that one." Jaina pointed. "The sculptor could have been sculpting you." She shuddered. "I wouldn't like to see things like that about myself. It would make me feel like just another rung of an enormous ladder."

Arthas raised an eyebrow. "I never thought of it that way," he said dryly. "Thank you for pointing that out."

"Sorry," she murmured, suddenly aware that she might accidentally send him into an existential crisis. He gave a small smile to let her know there was no harm done, but his jaw tightened.

They approached a tall pillar of dark marble. Its edges were angled into an octagon, and the royal crest of Lordaeron was etched in gold on its front. Six quartz roses were embedded in the marble, with an inscription in gold below.

"This is it," whispered Arthas, and his hand trembled in hers.

Jaina pulled her hand free; she leaned down and traced the quartz roses as she read the inscription.

 

~ _Queen Rosia of Lordaeron~_

_The flower buds, it blooms, it wilts,_

_Its mark upon the world seems small,_

_But take ye hope: as mem'ries fade,_

_Only bloom will ye recall._

 

"She wrote that, right before she died," said Arthas. "It was a song; Uther sang it at her funeral." That moment was one of his first memories.

"Uther?" asked Jaina. The prince nodded solemnly and pressed his hand to the marble.

"He was with her when she died." He didn't say more, so Jaina didn't press him. She read the words again, and a shiver ran down her spine.

Arthas watched her for a moment, then moved onto the next pillar. Here was his father's monument, and beside it, one for him. His name was already on it: "Here lies Arthas Menethil," with room to carve in his rank, date of death, and an inscription. It had been carved there the moment he was born.

Just another rung of an enormous ladder.

Jaina took his hand; he looked down, surprised to remember she was there. Her hand squeezed his as she stared at his grave. She wasn't sure what to say, so she was silent. Arthas traced the marble pillar with his free hand.

"I'm going to be cremated," he said. "There wasn't enough room for any more full-body vaults, so they started cremating us three generations ago. That's why they stopped doing monuments."

Jaina's eyes were wide; she leaned closer to him. Arthas took a step sideways and stood before the pillar next to it. He touched the marble and closed his eyes.

"Who is this one for?" whispered Jaina. It was blank.

Arthas turned to gaze at her. "My queen."

Tears suddenly welled in Jaina's eyes and her knees buckled beneath her. She fell against his body; he gripped her shoulder and pulled her into a tight hug.

"The thought of another woman resting eternally beside you makes my heart twist with jealousy," she sobbed. "And yet, the thought of this being my grave..." She pressed her face tightly into his chest.

Arthas set his jaw; he rested his chin on her head and stared blankly across the cemetery. Staring back at him were dozens of monuments and carvings that bore his face, their features cut and their eyes angry in the sharp, crisp moonlight.

 

 

Kael lay on his back on the bed, a pillow clutched to his chest so tightly that his claws had pierced through the cotton shell. He pitched side to side as the wails poured from his mouth. Tears ran down his cheeks and into his ears; his nose ran.

His Jaina -- his sweet, perfect Jaina -- had lied to him. That was what stung him the most. He ripped his claws free from the pillow and pressed his palms to his eyes, then rolled onto his side and sobbed.

Mina stood in the centre of the room, carefully hidden with a spell of invisibility. She had teleported into the prince's room to check on him, but now she felt more like an intruder than a concerned friend. Her knees threatened to buckle beneath her.

In all the years she had known him, the sorceress had never seen Kael in such agony. When he was fifteen, his younger sister had died in front of him -- her drowning lungs had given out when he was almost within arm's reach in the strong current -- and the prince had barely wept as he had brought her dead body to shore, cradled in his spindly arms. His parents and even Eldin had been incapacitated with grief, so Kael had taken care of all the arrangements; he never once showed a hint of losing control of his emotions. Then, just over five years ago, both of Kael's parents had died in a freak building collapse. Mina couldn't remember seeing him weep once during the entire mourning period. He had withdrawn from everyone, though; in fact, she didn't think he had ever fully recovered. He rarely smiled since that day.

Eldin was the exact opposite: passionate and emotional. He tried to pretend he was tough and angry, but when only she was around, he would break down and show her the overwhelming sadness that she could now observe in Kael. She wondered if the elder prince always reserved his grief for times he was alone, or if he simply never broke down this way.

Kael rolled onto his stomach and began to cough and wretch between his sobs; he bent over the side of the bed. After a moment the gags subsided, and he began to weep anew.

Mina let out a slow, sad sigh. Perhaps it would do him some good to weep freely. She would check on him again in the morning; he deserved to have his privacy. Her invisible staff waved in front of her body as she teleported from the room.

 

 

 


	14. Book One - XIII

**XIII**

 

As they approached the examination hall the next morning, Jaina squeezed Arthas' hand; she meant the gesture to soothe his anxieties, but she was anxious herself. He had offered to come to make certain she arrived on time. The truth was that he was clinging to the last few minutes they had together with their relationship at its current state. Deep down he knew that she was going to be accepted -- how could she not? -- and he anticipated the outcome of the exam with the trepidation of a condemned man. When they reached the hall, he planted a quick kiss on her forehead; several of the townspeople floating about nearby began to titter with excitement at the opportunity to see their prince and his future queen engaged in an affectionate moment. Jaina gritted her teeth as she entered the hall.

Deranis, Sallia and Loti were in the waiting room already; they sat in seats far apart from one another. Jaina's gaze flicked between theirs, then she looked away. She suddenly felt a bit uncomfortable wearing the cloak they had given her; she had debated whether or not she should put it on. She didn't want to show forgiveness, but she was rather fond of the cloak's design, and it was soft and warm. In the end, comfort won out, but now she regretted her choice. The blonde planted her staff on the ground in front of her as a shield against their gazes.

The elf soon stood and moved to sit by her friend. She put a hand on the blonde's shoulder.

"Good luck, Jaina, not that you need it," she said softly. "You deserve to get in."

The woman bowed her head. "Thanks, Loti," she whispered, and her hands trembled around her staff.

The elf wanted to say more, but she was called into the room. She stood. Jaina looked up and gave a tiny smile.

"Good luck," she whispered.

The other prospective students were called in one at a time. Jaina tried to read their expressions as they were ushered away after the examination, but their faces were so varied that her nervousness didn't fade. Sallia was called in, then Deranis, and then Loti. Eventually the room emptied until only the blonde was left.

Jaina stood when she was called in and gripped her staff tightly in her hands. Her footsteps seemed unnaturally loud as she followed the usher into the room. Once inside, it took a moment for her eyes to adjust.

Just as last time, the room was slightly darkened, and the panel sat in three graduated rows, all facing her. The Archmage, of course, sat near the centre of the very front row; his face was solemn. Jaina scanned the rest of the panel of mages, looking for any expression that might show her what she was in for. She started. Kael was sitting in the back row, his face pallid; he quickly looked down to avoid her gaze.

"Miss Jaina Proudmoore," said Antonidas, using her full name; he hadn't done that last time. The woman stood tall and focussed on him; she braced her staff squarely in front of herself.

"Lord Archmage," she replied respectfully. She wasn't sure of the proper way to address him; there were several archmages in the Kirin Tor, but Antonidas was of the highest rank. "Lord" seemed the most respectful, and in this case no one seemed to find it odd.

"The town is certainly abuzz with your name today," murmured the mage, almost to himself. Jaina's throat tightened.

"With all due respect, Milord," she said with as much confidence as she could muster, "I fail to see what that has to do with the examination."

In retrospect her tone had been a bit haughty, almost impertinent. A murmured chuckle ran through the panel. Jaina chanced a guilty look up at Kael; she suddenly realized he must have heard about her relationship with Arthas through the circulating gossip. His face was expressionless as he stared down at her, but now she noticed that his eyes glowed white and the skin around them was red and swollen. This time he didn't look away, so she did.

"You are quite right, Miss Proudmoore." said the mage, a bit amused. He raised a bushy white eyebrow. "That's quite the staff you have there."

"Is it permitted?" asked Jaina, nervous.

"Most certainly, though most applicants would be incapable of wielding such a powerful staff." The Archmage folded his boney hands in front of himself and shifted in his seat. "Incidentally, I hear you have been doing some extra study on your own beyond the preliminary materials."

Jaina's mouth dropped; she snapped her gaze to Kael. Again he stared back at her, but now his jaw trembled slightly -- with anger or sadness, she couldn't tell. The blonde bowed her head and gritted her teeth.

"Milord," she said, "it was never my intention to have another speak up on my behalf-"

"I have a proposition for you, Miss Proudmoore," interrupted the Archmage. "Instead of the normal examination, I would like to take you through the curricula of each year of study with the Kirin Tor to see how much of it you have already mastered."

Her stomach twisted; this change of events brought far too many emotions for her to categorize.

"Is that normal procedure, Milord?" she asked softly.

"Miss Proudmoore," replied Antonidas, "from what I understand, your situation is anything but normal. Let us begin."

 

 

"Arthas!"

The prince turned to see Syrius. He shook his head and stood. The lord was dressed in a high-collared shirt and his shiniest boots; Arthas supposed he had been attending to business at his family's estate.

The lord grinned and stood a few feet away from his friend. "Good to see you; how are you feeling?" He shook the other's hand. The prince's eyebrows pinched with confusion at the other's chipper behaviour.

"A little better," he said.

"So, why on earth would you let me believe that you were sleeping with Molly?" cried Syrius, a bit too loudly. "How long have you been with Jaina? Why didn't you tell me?"

Arthas looked uneasily about; a few of the villagers had their eyes on him, eager to hear all about his romance. The prince looked up at the clock tower; Jaina had been gone for more than two hours. He had wanted to wait there and surprise her when she was done, but he was growing edgy. At last he turned and smiled at his friend.  
"Let's discuss it over an ale," he said. He would meet Jaina later that night as they had planned.

 

 

In the examination hall, Antonidas started with the usual entrance requirements; Jaina breezed through them within a few minutes. The same thing happened with the first year curriculum. The second year took a few minutes longer, mostly because the spells took longer to perform. Antonidas' brows creased as he pushed into the third year curriculum. The panel of mages began to mutter amongst themselves as the woman successfully summoned a cloud to pour shards of ice into the room, and then unsummoned it before it could damage anyone. The chatter increased as she summoned three water elementals simultaneously, and then as she teleported. By the time Antonidas had her turning herself invisible, the din was so loud that Jaina had a difficult time understanding anything the Archmage said. Her heart pounded in her chest and her hands were so slippery with sweat that she could barely hold her staff. She took deep breath and tried to calm herself as she waited for his next command.

"Silence!" said the Archmage. He stood so quickly that his white robes billowed around his body. "This is getting ridiculous," he said. "Your water elementals are well past a fifth year level already." He leafed through the fat book in his hand, then marked a page with his finger and strode into the center of the room. Jaina steeled herself so as not to shrink away from the mage.

"Have you ever had access to the mass teleportation spell?" asked Antonidas softly.

The blonde shook her head no; she hadn't been aware that there was such a spell.

"It is the most difficult spell in the repertoire of the Kirin Tor," he whispered, "but I think you can handle it." He cocked his head back at the panel of mages. "Don't let these naysayers discourage you. You have tremendous talent, and this will prove it to them."

Then he turned and stood tall, holding his hands in the air for silence. "Fellow mages: Miss Proudmoore is going to teleport all of us through the wall of this building to the other side."

The panel of mages erupted in protests, save for Kael, who leaned back in his seat, a faint smile on his lips.

"Miss Proudmoore, I want you to read through the spell until you're comfortable with it and then cast it," said Antonidas, his voice echoing above the din.

"That's ridiculous!" exploded a sorceress named Lin. "She'll kill us all!"

Antonidas didn't listen; he was counting the number of people with them. "Mina," he called, "go into the streets and fetch eleven volunteers. She's going to do this with twenty-four people." Twenty-four was the maximum number of people the spell could handle, and he wanted to be sure that her success couldn't be pinned down as a fluke.

"Are you insane?" yelled a young mage. "To have her kill all of us is bad enough, but to kill innocent people-"

"Do it, Mina," said Antonidas. The elf-woman nodded and hurried through the door. The Archmage returned to his seat and watched Jaina as she read through the spell. She showed enormous talent; he knew his faith in her wouldn't be misplaced.

"Shouldn't she at least have someone in mind to teleport to?" asked Lin nervously as she leaned across to the Archmage. It was far easier to focus one's energies on a person rather than a destination, and thus most of the mages preferred to mass-teleport to a specific person rather than a specific place.

Antonidas smiled. "That would be easier, wouldn't it? Unfortunately, Miss Proudmoore isn't here to show us that she can do easier spells." He shifted. "Don't worry, Lin. I will counterbalance the spell if she casts it wrong, but I highly doubt we have to worry about that."

When the blonde had finished reading the spell, she set the book down and concentrated, moving through the steps in her mind. It was a complicated spell, but it didn't seem much more difficult than teleporting a single person. Her lips moved and she closed her eyes in preparation.

Mina returned with eleven volunteers, two of them children. The mages in the stands began to protest loudly.

"Silence!" Antonidas stood and banged his staff once on the wooden floor. "Miss Proudmoore, you may begin."

The room fell silent as twenty-three pairs of eyes focussed on the young woman at the centre of the room.

Jaina's eyes slid closed and she held her staff out with one hand; it trembled. She concentrated for a moment to steady herself.

Her voice began to chant the words she had read; it was reedy and shaky at the beginning, but grew stronger as she continued. The mages listened, nervously waiting for her to make an error. She didn't.

A white circle glowed beneath her feet. A second later, similar circles began to glow around the chairs of the mages and the volunteers; they all looked down as their feet began to tingle.

Jaina finished chanting the spell. Her eyes opened and glowed a fierce blue.

Antonidas smiled and shot a raised eyebrow at Lin; she was silent, her gaze focussed on the woman.

The staff swung in an arc before Jaina's body and she closed her eyes, praying the spell had worked.

The room disappeared, and she was suspended; then her feet touched ground and she fell to one knee, gasping for air.

The twenty-three others looked around, surprised. They were in the marketplace, nearly a block away from the examination hall. The patrons and merchants of the stalls nearby stared, surprised by the sudden apparition of two-dozen people.

After a moment of silence, Antonidas stepped forward. Jaina lifted her head, too drained to stand, then bowed it again in a show of respect.

"Miss Proudmoore," he announced, "it would appear that your family excels in all domains; your command of magic is the most powerful I have ever seen in an untrained being, and you show potential to be the greatest sorceress humanity has ever produced." He smiled, the crow's feet in the corners of his eyes wrinkling deeply. "I wish to take you on as my apprentice, effective immediately."

"Your...apprentice?" breathed Jaina.

"Long live Lady Jaina!" called a member of the crowd, and soon the roar was deafening. Jaina's face dropped into her hands and she began to weep with joy.

 

 

Arthas' head snapped up at the cheers. Syrius peered out the window of the pub.

"What's going on?" he wondered aloud. The prince stood and began to rush to the door, abandoning his mug of ale.

"Arthas?" asked the lord.

"We'll talk later," called Arthas, then he slipped out the door and began to run in the direction of the chants. The sounds took him to the centre of the marketplace; he pushed through the crowd. There crouched Jaina, her face in her hands. The prince knelt beside her and put a hand to her shoulder.

"Jaina?" he whispered.

The blonde looked up at him through bleary eyes. "I'm training as Antonidas' apprentice, Arthas!" she whispered; she fell, sobbing, into his arms.

 

 

Kael's chest rose and fell with the strain of the jagged breaths that were building in his lungs. His fists tightened. His claws dug into the flesh of his palms and drew blood. His eyes glowed white and his teeth were bared, the sharp canines clearly exposed; a long, slow hiss sounded between them.

The crowd cheered wildly for their future king and queen, but the couple didn't seem to notice. Arthas wrapped his arms tightly around Jaina and began to rock her gently. His lips pressed to the woman's golden hair, then he spread his broad hand on her lower back and urged her onto his lap. She curled up there, weeping, and grasped at the strands of his wiry mane. The man kissed Jaina's forehead, slowly and softly, and Kael felt the urge to wretch again.

He wasn't sure how long he watched the pair. Mina hovered hesitantly nearby, not sure whether it was best to cheer him up or leave him alone.

"Maybe we should go back to the inn, sparky," she said softly. Her hand dropped onto Kael's shoulder and squeezed; its weight stabilized him somewhat, and he found he could speak again.

"This was supposed to be the happiest day of my life, Mina," whispered the elven prince. Now Jaina and Arthas shared a slow but chaste kiss; the crowd screamed and clapped. Kael's eyes watered.

"It's all very sudden," said the sorceress so softly that the elven prince almost didn't hear her over the din. "You just need time to get used to everything at once."

"Look at him," growled Kael. The human prince wiped a strand of hair from Jaina's damp cheeks and gently kissed her forehead.

"He seems very much in love," observed Mina pointedly. "Look how respectfully he's looking at her."

"How dare he," fumed the elven prince, not really listening to her. The sorceress raised an eyebrow and shot her friend an amused glance.

"You'd rather he treat her badly?"

Kael ignored her.

The crowd began to disperse; Jaina wiped her tears and stood as Antonidas approached the pair. The Archmage gently gripped her arm and began to walk with her, presumably to discuss the terms of her apprenticeship. Arthas stood alone, staring after them. The elven prince's lips flared into a sneer and he began to stride forward.

"Sugar, wait-" called Mina; she lunged for his arm and missed. A curse left her lips and she began to run after him.

Kael stopped about a metre from Arthas and planted his feet firmly on the ground.

"Prince Arthas," he greeted.

The human prince's jaw tensed; he turned to face the elf. "Prince Kael'thas," he returned, no amicability in his voice.

The two men glared at one another. Mina hesitated; she hung back as she decided she didn't want to get caught between them should things get out of hand.

Kael raised a long eyebrow. "I suppose you'll be seeing less of Jaina now." He smirked without any hint of humour. "Though it escapes me why such a talented, beautiful woman would choose to spend time in the company of a bloodthirsty wretch such as yourself in the first place."

The human prince's nostrils flared; he took a step toward the other. "You're the reason she got accepted, aren't you?" he accused, his voice low. "You're trying to take her away from me." He shook his head. "I had no idea elves were such petty creatures."

Kael's eyes glowed. "Jaina got accepted because of her own talents," he growled. "If you are insinuating that she needed my aid-"

"You know damned well what I mean!" snapped Arthas. He took another step forward, towering over the other. "I know how it works. Do a woman a favour in hopes that she'll do one for you. It isn't going to work, elf. Jaina isn't stupid enough to make the same mistake twice."

Kael's lips flared into a sneer as the magic of Dath'Remar begged to course through his veins. "A pity you're unarmed," he snarled. "I should like to give you a demonstration of how much pain you caused me by stealing her away, but I can't bring myself to attack a defenseless target."

"She came to me," barked Arthas. "Apparently she needed a real man after being stuck with a pathetic, incompetent, effeminate coward!"

Kael's blood boiled; he leaned forward. "Mark my words, Arthas," he growled in a hushed tone, "the next time we're in battle together, you will fall. It's easy to make magic attacks look like an accident, and I know several that make the magics of the Kirin Tor look like child's play." He grinned with such malice that Arthas' skin crawled. "You'd better pray that you don't run into me again, human, because your little Holy Book won't save you from what I will unleash."

"Arthas," called Jaina from her position by Antonidas. "I need your opinion." She shot him a pointed look; she couldn't hear the discussion, but it was apparent that the two princes weren't exchanging pleasantries.

Arthas shot a smirk at the elf. "Well, then, until we meet again, Kael," he said; he leaned closer to add, "I'll cast a pitying thought your way as I'm lying with her tonight." He turned before the elven prince could answer.

Kael hissed and raised his hand as he began to summon the spell to drain magical energies. A staff smacked him on the forearms before he could finish; he turned to see Mina. She settled the staff into the crook of her arm and put her hands on her hips.

"I don't think you're particularly incompetent or effeminate, sugar, but you really are pathetic." The sorceress raised an eyebrow; she hadn't been in Quel'Thalas when Arthas had attacked Kael, but now it was becoming clear that the attack hadn't been unprovoked.

"How long were you watching?" muttered Kael. He cast a longing look at Jaina. Arthas stood beside her, his arm settled firmly on her shoulders.

"Long enough to see you make a fool out of yourself." Mina shook her head. "You can't attack a prince in his homeland in the middle of a crowded market." She hadn't been able to hear all of the conversation over the din of the marketplace, but it was evident what the general theme of the discussion had been.

` "He's a bigotted jackass," protested Kael, vaguely aware that he sounded childish. "He said elves were 'petty creatures.'"

"He only gets that way around you, honey." The elf-woman flushed slightly and looked down at her fingernails. "I can assure you," she added, "Prince Arthas has no problem with elves. In fact, there are circumstances where he prefers them."

The elven prince stared, trying to make sense of what she had said.

"Come on," said Mina with a slight embarrassed cough. "Let's head back to Dalaran." When Kael began to protest, she said, "It's her last night in Lordaeron, hon. She's going to be with Prince Arthas all night. You can talk to her tomorrow." She cocked her head in the direction of the inn. "Let's go get our stuff."

The elven prince cast one more longing glance at the woman he loved, then turned and began to follow his friend.

 

 

Arthas was dangerously silent as Jaina discussed her plans with the Archmage.

"There are a few routine medical tests we need to run to make sure that your body can stand up to the rigours of magic," said the Archmage, off-handed. He smiled. "Then you will be able to move into the sorceress' sanctum immediately. Be at the gates to the Violet Citadel at four o'clock."

"Yes, Milord," said Jaina with a bow. She struggled to keep a gleeful smile from her face.

When the Archmage left, Jaina turned to Arthas. He raised an eyebrow, his face impassive.

"Let's go talk in private," he muttered.

She followed him as he stormed towards the castle, a little taken aback by his foul mood. The prince said nothing the entire walk. He slammed the door of his room open, but closed it gently after she entered. His face drooped with sadness and his shoulders were slumped.

"Archmage, Jaina?" he whispered.

"I never even dreamed it was possible," she replied with forced enthusiasm, but her earlier joy had left her. She stared at the ground.

Arthas stepped forward and gripped her shoulders; now his brows were heavy.

"This means we will be separated forever, Jaina. You will have to stay in Dalaran; I will have to stay here." His jaw trembled. "For the rest of our lives!"

Jaina began to wring her hands in front of her body. "I know," she whispered, unable to meet his gaze.

"Doesn't your love mean enough that you would give up this chance for me?" growled Arthas, and the woman would have been bothered by the spite in his voice if she didn't feel similar frustration. She looked up; her eyes were damp. Her delicate hand smoothed a stray strand of golden hair behind his ear.

"If you think it's that easy," she whispered, her eyes searching his, "then abdicate from your right to the throne. Leave the Silver Hand and come with me to Dalaran."

Arthas dropped his chin. "I can't," he whispered.

"Exactly. And I can't abandon my fate, either," replied the blonde gently. Arthas let out a low sigh; he sat on the bed.

"We'll work around it," he said stubbornly. "You can be a queen and an Archmage at the same time. We'll just have to figure out a way for us to spend time together, that's all."

Jaina moved to sit beside him. Her fingers laced through his; his hands were massive. He looked at the junction and his thumb ran across her slender knuckle. He swallowed hard.

"Arthas," murmured the woman gently, "don't you understand what I've been telling you? I don't want to be a queen." She swallowed hard, too, and watched her thumb rub against his. "I've never wanted to rule a country; my father tried to convince me it was my destiny to rule Kul Tiras, but I loathed the idea. I always have; I am no leader." A small, sad sigh left her lips.

The prince gritted his teeth and shook his head.

"Then we will not have a traditional marriage," he said fiercely. "You will be queen by name only. I will visit Dalaran to be with you whenever I can; you will have no royal duties aside from your title. We can have Torina raise our children at the castle; she is an excellent nurse, so you won't have to do anything."

"Your people will never accept any of that," murmured the woman.

"My people love you, Jaina!" said Arthas, surprised by her pessimism. "You heard them cheer. They would accept any arrangement we came up with, so long as we were together."

The woman sighed and withdrew her hand from his. He stared at her.

"If I didn't know any better," snapped the prince, "I'd say you were looking for any excuse to get out of this relationship."

Her eyes were damp when she looked at him. "Arthas," she whispered. "I'm tired of being in the public eye. I just want to spend the rest of my life alone with my books and my magic. That is the only way I can be happy." She smiled sadly. "Don't you think it would be easier to end our affair now before we fall so deeply in love that we can't break up, and we're miserable for the rest of our lives?"

The prince stood up and his fists clenched at his sides. "Affair?" he repeated, offended by the belittling word.

"It's only been a couple of weeks," whispered the woman. She looked down.

Arthas shoved a hand through his hair and began to pace the room in front of her. His face was flushed and he began to mutter under his breath. The woman watched, her lips trembling.

Finally, Arthas stopped and whirled to face her.

"Two weeks," he said forcefully. "We'll try out our relationship for two weeks and see how it goes. If at the end of that you don't think it will work, we'll separate."

The woman dropped her head and shook it. "I don't know, Arthas," she murmured; a tear trailed down her cheek.

"Jaina," insisted the prince, and he got onto his knees before her, taking her hands in his. "Please," he said, softer.

The blonde raised her eyes to meet his. His cheeks were dry, but his eyes glistened. She had never seen him this close to tears.

"Okay," she whispered, certain they were only setting themselves up for misery.

 

 

Their lovemaking that evening was weighted heavily by their impending separation.

Jaina sat above Arthas and ran her hands down the front of her body, her head tossed back; she was determined to make this session memorable. Loud, needing gasps erupted from her mouth. She had never touched herself in front of him before; the sight was so beautiful and arousing that his fingers dug into her hips and he watched with an open mouth, blinking back tears of awe. Her movements were slow at first, then harder and faster; her hands clawed into her breasts and she moaned.

Arthas ran one hand along the front of her body up to her lips; she opened her mouth and ran her tongue around his finger, pulling him in so deeply that he was reluctant to remove it again. The moistened finger ran back down her body to their junction, and he slid it in small circles, a bit clumsy with the unfamiliar angle. Her hands dropped behind her to grip his thighs and she leaned back. A yell split her jaw as climax hit her; it had barely ended when she lunged forward and pressed her lips to his in a ravenous kiss. Her warm hands pressed to either side of his face, petting and stroking. She pulled back and rubbed her nose slowly against his, then around his face, inhaling his scent, enjoying the rough stubble on her skin. His hands clasped her face, too, and his mouth sagged open, breathing in. Her breath was thick with wine and garlic from their evening meal; the heady scents mingled with her delicate, sweet scent. When she pulled away a few inches, a tear trickled down her cheek. He wiped it with his thumb.

"I'm terrified," she whispered.

He slowly pressed his lips to her forehead. "I know," he murmured into her smooth skin. His hands wrapped around her torso as he tugged her close, their bodies still joined.

"I love you, Arthas," she choked, and her face nuzzled into his shoulder. He ran a hand through her golden hair.

Her teeth sank unexpectedly into the crook between his neck and his shoulder. His eyes slid closed as she bit and sucked, and the hand in her hair tightened. His erection hardened again inside her. After a moment he rolled so that he was on top of her. He thrust slowly; his eyes locked with hers, then trailed to stare at the beautiful muscle twitch in her upper lip. His climax was brief, clipped short by anxiety. The woman pushed him gently onto his back without hesitating and took his spent member into her mouth, determined that he have at least one glorious orgasm before the night ended.

She fell asleep several hours later, her fingers laced through the fur of Arthas' chest. Her breaths were deep and even against his shoulder, and he closed his eyes to store the sensation in his memory.

The prince would have liked to stay there, but anxiety was making him restless. After a moment he gently moved her arm to the side and stood. She stirred and let out a small moan; he pulled the quilt to cover her shoulders and ran his hand across her cheek. Then he turned and padded to the window.

The moon was almost half full, and the clouds in front of it cast a fitting gloomy setting. Arthas folded his arms on the windowsill and stared across the courtyard. His jaw hardened and his eyebrows narrowed as he steeled himself.

He wasn't going to weep. Not yet. There was still hope. Maybe Jaina would get to Dalaran and it wouldn't be what she had expected. Or maybe he could institute a new Capital City near Dalaran. Or perhaps when she had finished her training with Antonidas, he would build a massive library of magic in the Capital City so that she could be near him...

The more the prince thought about it, the more he knew she was right: there was no future for them. What kind of marriage could it possibly be, with them living a day's ride apart? There would be no time to raise successors to the throne or perform diplomatic duties. She would be busy, he would be busy, and all that would be left were a few fleeting moments of sex and hasty discussion.

His chin dropped to rest on his forearms. Damn fate for making him a prince! If only he could abdicate from his right to the throne... But there would be no one to step up behind him. Calia had long ago fled the duties of being a royal child. Uther would be a logical choice -- he knew more about diplomatic relations than Arthas himself -- but he was too old and of no noble blood.

Besides, the prince had spent his entire life preparing for monarchy. If he were to leave that behind, his existence until now would be meaningless. He wouldn't know what to do with himself.

"Arthas?" murmured Jaina. The prince turned to see her padding toward him, the bed sheet wrapped tightly around her for warmth in the chilly night. She stopped beside him and wiped her hand against his cheek; he was surprised to realize that his face was damp with tears. Something between a gasp and a sob left his lips. His arms snaked around her, drawing her close, and he buried his face in her hair. She rubbed his back until the shudders slowed.

"It isn't fair," he choked as he pulled away.

The blonde stood on her tiptoes and planted a gentle kiss on his cheek. "Come back to bed," she whispered. Tears were building in her eyes, too.

She gripped his hand to lead him across the room and then pressed his back against the bed sheets. Her body radiated heat from her sleep; she spooned beside him, pulling the quilt to cover them both. Arthas held her tightly in his arms and pressed his nose to her hair. Jaina snuggled into his chest.

They lay like that, sleepless, for several hours.

 

 

The blonde awoke early the next morning to a knock at the door. Arthas was finally asleep; his mouth hung open, and he was snoring softly. His muscled arm lay across her chest. She kissed his forehead; he didn't stir. The knock sounded again. Jaina grunted to push the heavy arm away, then wrapped her cloak around herself and opened the door a crack.

A plump, elderly servant stood outside, bearing a tray laden with bread, cheese and fruit. The blonde presumed she was Torina; Arthas had mentioned her often.

"Good morning, Lady Jaina," she said courteously. "Some breakfast for you and His Majesty. My congratulations to you on your acceptance into the Kirin Tor."

Jaina thanked her, surprised, and accepted the tray. The food smelled delicious: there were eggs and bacon and sausages, and an enormous pile of fruit with several slices of bread and fresh cheese. But between her excitement over the Kirin Tor and her worry over her future with Arthas, she had no appetite.

It took a few tries to rouse Arthas, and in the end, he had no appetite, either. The lovers were somber as they forced themselves to nibble at the food.

"I suppose I should go home and pack if we're to be in Dalaran this afternoon," said Jaina when they had pushed the tray aside.

"I'll come help," said Arthas, his voice hoarse.

None of Jaina's roommates were awake when they arrived. Arthas closed the door to the blonde's room and sat cross-legged on the bed as Jaina packed. As he watched, it amazed him how many books she owned. The bottom half of the trunk was packed solid with them, and the trunk itself was nearly large enough that he could fit inside it. He wondered if she had read them all.

Once all the books were packed, Jaina wrapped the few trinkets she had brought with her in a cloak and laid them in the trunk. She came to the box that held Kael's scrolls next; she hesitated and began to paw through them.

"Are those spells?" asked Arthas curiously.

Jaina sighed and set them aside. "Scrolls from Kael," she murmured. "I don't know what to do with them."

Arthas was silent for a moment.

"How long were you and he..." The prince trailed off, his throat tightening.

Jaina delicately explained how her relationship with the elven prince had started, then how they had corresponded. Arthas lay back and folded his arms behind his head, his jaw tight.

"He took your virginity, didn't he?" he asked angrily, remembering that she had been sixteen when she first made love.

She dropped her chin. "Yes," she murmured. "But that was the only time I ever slept with him."

"Five years," said Arthas slowly, not really listening. "No wonder you think our relationship is an affair."

"Stop it," said Jaina tersely. "I don't love him."

The prince let out a long huff and closed his eyes. The blonde shook her head and turned back to her packing. She had folded three cloaks when Arthas suddenly sat up.

"Wait," said the prince. "You left him when you met me, and you lost your virginity to him, but you've had six lovers."

"One is you," she pointed out. "The other four..." The woman sighed. "Kael and I were living far from each other for five years, Arthas; we both had other relationships."

His eyes widened, and his jaw quivered. "So you would sleep with other men, but you were still..." His stomach lurched.

"Arthas-" she started.

"Well, this is wonderful," snapped the prince. "I'm glad to know you'll run back to him the instant our 'affair' ends!"

"Arthas!" she snapped. "I don't love him!"

When he didn't reply, Jaina sighed and moved to sit by him, rubbing her hand along his brow.

"I don't love him," she whispered.

The prince sighed and bowed his head. Jaina ran her fingers along his jaw.

"The night of the gala was the first time he and I were reunited after being apart for so long, and I found myself falling for you instead of him." She blushed and ducked her head. "I saw you dancing with Sallia, and you were the most gorgeous man I had ever seen." A shameful smile tugged at her lips. "I was supposed to be dancing with Kael, but my eyes kept drifting to you."

He looked over at her, a smile on his lips, too. "You left your goblet behind, you know, when you came to talk to me." He added, "I was going to bring it to you, but you were dancing with him, and then you were gone."

"You should have interrupted," she whispered. "I couldn't stop thinking about you." She dropped her gaze. "I'm a terrible person, Arthas. Kael waited five years for that night, and I had to go and fall in love with you instead of him. I didn't even have the decency to tell him. I swore to his face I wasn't in love with you, and he had to find out I'd lied through rumours."

Arthas bowed his head as he felt a sudden pang of pity for his rival; no wonder the elven prince had been so furious.

"And I dragged you into the middle of it," added Jaina, and a tear spilled down her cheek.

The prince smirked. "Jaina, he and I have hated each other for many years, probably longer than you've known him. If anything, you're the one who got dragged into it." He caught her hand and kissed it. " You aren't a bad person; you've made my life thousands of times better," he whispered, and he pulled her onto his lap and tenderly pressed his lips to hers.

Eventually, they separated so that she could continue packing. Arthas watched, silent, observing every movement she made, every expression on her face. She left the scrolls for last; she hesitated. The prince looked away.

"Pack them," he said softly. "Decide what to do with them later."

Jaina nodded and set them in the top of the trunk. She closed the lid and locked the latches.

They went into the common room; Arthas left to arrange transportation, so Jaina rustled through the kitchen to pack some lunch. She left the jars of broth for her roommates -- she could always make more in Dalaran -- and packed a loaf of bread, some cheese, and a large bottle of ale that had been sitting on the counter for a special occasion. She knew Arthas preferred ale to wine.

When she returned to the living room Loti and Deranis sat on the divan; they stood with their hands clasped in front of them. Jaina sighed, then gathered Loti into a hug. She hesitated, then hugged Deranis, too; though they hadn't been getting along lately, they had known each other since childhood. They both knew Jaina would eventually forgive the woman.

"I suppose I'll see you both in Dalaran eventually," said the blonde, trying to lighten the mood.

Loti bowed her head. "Not me," she whispered. Jaina stared.

"I'm going back to Quel'Thalas," murmured the elf. "To train as a priestess. The Archmage said I have great healing powers that shouldn't be wasted." He'd also said that she had no hope of learning the magic arts, but she'd suspected that for a long time.

Jaina sighed and hugged her friend again. "Keep in touch, Loti," she whispered.

"I will," promised the elf.

The blonde sighed again. "Where's Sallia?" she asked.

"Probably at Jeremy's," said Deranis.

"Jeremy's?" asked Jaina, surprised.

"Captain Scarsdale," explained Loti, unimpressed. "They had something of a liaison in the bath rooms at Prince Arthas' birthday celebration, and they've continued to meet since then."

"Oh," said Jaina, and it struck her that she had been so absorbed with her own life that she hadn't bothered to pay attention to the lives of her roommates. Though her oblivion shamed her, she wasn't ready to forgive the woman yet; she added a bit tersely, "Tell her I say goodbye."

A knock sounded at the door; it was Arthas. He held the reins of his mount and the palomino she had ridden to the Cliffs.

"The carriage will be along shortly for your trunk," he murmured. "We should head out if you're to be on time."

Jaina turned to her roommates and gave a shaky smile. "Goodbye for now," she said softly. She took one last look around the room, then left, closing the door behind her.

 

 

There didn't seem to be much to say during the journey, so Jaina and Arthas were silent. They stopped halfway for the lunch that Jaina had carefully packed, but this time there was no lovemaking under a willow tree, or happy chatter over a glass of wine. Jaina didn't bother to bring out the ale she'd packed; her stomach was unsettled enough as it was. She finally spoke.

"The medical tests are only supposed to take two hours," she said. "We should go out for supper afterwards. If you don't mind waiting around."

Arthas looked at her with sad eyes. "Wouldn't you rather get settled in?"

"No." She reached across to squeeze his hand. He smiled sadly.

"Okay," he whispered. He leaned in for a gentle kiss, then they packed their picnic and continued the ride.

Jaina's eyes lit up as they approached the Violet Citadel a few hours later. The building was made of several spires of varying lengths; Jaina remembered Kael joking in one of his letters, a long time ago, that the staircases were exceptionally windy and steep so as to encourage the new members to quickly master teleportation. The spires were all of a polished white hue; the reflection of the sands around it cast a faint pink haze on the buildings. A small lake surrounded the building, but several bridges provided easy access.

"It's beautiful," she whispered, and Arthas knew by the awe in her voice that she was never going to leave.

He left her by the gates to the towers of the Kirin Tor. His spirits were low, so he headed into the scant marketplace to distract himself. The merchandise was limited by the remote location, and it took less than an hour to browse through it all. Eventually he returned to the gates to wait for her.

There was a particularly thick, gnarled tree not ten metres from the gates. Some scholarly comedian had scratched on the bark, "As Antonidas' back is bent, so this tree is inclined." Arthas stared at the words, trying to morph them into a phrase that made sense to him, but eventually he gave up trying and slumped against the trunk to wait.

 

 

"Aren't you even going to greet her?" asked Bolomina, exasperated. Kael sat at his desk, his hands raked into the hair on either side of his face, and he stared out the window. He had been like that since she had come to his room, unmoving and unspeaking; for all she knew, he could have been like that since his return to Dalaran the night before.

"Say something!" she cried.

Kael's shoulders rose, paused, then fell again. He didn't turn to look at her.

Seeing that she would still not get a response, Mina knelt beside him and ran her hand along his chin.

"A woman could take advantage of a man in this catatonic state, sugar," she purred. "You'd better be careful, or I might crawl onto your lap and force myself on you." The words made her feel dirty, and she shuddered.

There was no response; the sorceress let out a shriek of frustration and stood.

"Okay, fine. I didn't want to do this, but I need to know you're still alright in the head." She pulled the strongbox key out of her cleavage and dangled it in front of his face. "All yours, sparky, if you'll just say something."

Kael finally moved; he turned his head to look up at her. His eyes were dry, but the eyelids were swollen and twitching. His lips trembled, and his nostrils flared with his gasping breaths. The expression was so heartbreaking that Mina's anger vanished.

"C'mon, hon," she said. "It's not that bad, is it?"

Kael turned back to his previous position. "She lied to me, Mina," he whispered. "I trusted her completely with my heart, and she tore it in half and set it alight."

"So now you're angry with her," said Mina. She pulled out a chair and sat backwards on it. "Look, sugar, maybe she didn't tell you because she wanted to protect you."

The prince stared at nothing. His friend sighed and tucked the key safely between her breasts, then adjusted their position in her bra.

"Would it really have been better to hear it from her lips?" added the sorceress gently.

"If he hurts her..." growled Kael.

"Yes, we've been through this part, many times." Mina sighed and massaged her temples. "Hon, why don't you just go to Kalnaka and relax like you always do."

Kael stared at her. "Kalnaka and I must never see one another again," he said solemnly.

Mina held his gaze for a moment; she shook her head when she realized he was serious.

"And here I was rooting for the two of you to end up living happily ever after," she murmured. "It would have been rather romantic." She knew it wasn't realistic -- after all, a barren woman couldn't bear Kael children, and he needed successors to the Sunstrider line -- but she had still always hoped. She had never met Kalnaka, but from the sounds of it, she was exactly what Kael needed to keep him from moping.

"There will never be a happily ever after for me," growled the prince, and his fingers curled into a fist. "I am condemned to be miserable and alone for the rest of my life."

"Only because you resign yourself to it," said Mina, and she examined her ruby claws. "You're addicted to misery, Kael. It isn't healthy."

The prince raked his hands into his hair again and rested his elbows on the desk once more.

Mina sighed and dropped her chin. She stood up from the chair and moved to kneel beside him.

"Go see her," she whispered. "Her medical exam should be over by now, and she'll start moving in. Offer to help her, or just show her around. Moping isn't helping anything."

Kael sighed. Mina reached up to squeeze his shoulder; she stood and left the room, closing the door softly behind her.

The elven prince squinted at his reflection in the shiny surface of the desk. There was no way in hell he was going to welcome Jaina. He had tried too many times to reach out to her, and each time she had broken his heart even more. He was sick of it. If she wanted his friendship, she would have to make the first move.

A tear splashed onto the surface of the desk, marring his reflection. Kael angrily smeared it with his palm. Another tear dropped onto the back of his hand; he let out a loud curse and leapt to his feet, knocking over the chair.

He didn't hear the knock at first; his rasping breaths drowned it out as he fought to control the overwhelming urge to use the magic of his ancestors.

"Go away!" he yelled, his voice cracking.

"Milord." It was the messenger Tancred. Kael stormed to the door and threw it open; the petit elf bowed his head, alarmed.

"Milord," he said again, and he held out a scroll with both hands. The prince stared at him for a moment, then snatched it out of the man's grasp.

"Thanks," he murmured, and he closed the door and stared at the scroll. It bore the Sunstrider regimental seal; why should his brother write to him and not Mina? He probably needed money or a favour. That was the only reason anyone ever seemed to write to him.

He stared at it for another moment, and then tossed it angrily into the corner of the room. He would read it later; for now, he would dart into the dining hall for something to eat. His stomach had been empty for two days, and he was certain he'd faint if he didn't fill it.

Perhaps afterwards, once he had worked up the courage, he would visit Jaina.

 

 

In the sanatorium of the Kirin Tor, Jaina's medical exam had just ended. The elven priest sighed as he gripped her shoulder.

"I have some bad news, I'm afraid," he murmured. The woman's eyes widened; her lips quivered. The priest added quickly, "It won't affect your studies here, don't worry about that. But..." He sighed again and explained the results of the test to her.

"It is highly unusual," he murmured.

"Can you check again?" she whispered once she had regained control of her voice.

"I'm sorry, there is no question about it." The priest sighed and raised an eyebrow. "Frankly, I'm surprised it never came up before. I imagine it would be difficult for you not to notice."

"How so?" whispered Jaina.

The priest bowed his head and his cheeks flushed as he explained the specifics. Jaina stared, feeling like a stupid, naive child. Her cheeks darkened, too, and tears of shame twinged at her eyes

"My mother died when I was fifteen," she whispered in something of a desperate excuse. "I guess she figured I was a late bloomer, so she was waiting until I physically matured to tell me about that sort of thing. My father and I never discussed personal things." She chastised herself for spending too much of her childhood with her nose in a book and not enough time listening to her friends talk. So many overheard conversations from her past suddenly came into focus and made sense.

The priest frowned. "I'm sorry to hear that," he said genuinely. "But there is, obviously, nothing that can be done, so it's no detriment to your health that you didn't know until so late." He paused and then added, "If that's any consolation."

Jaina was silent.

"Other than that, you are a remarkably healthy human being," said the priest with false cheer.

"Please," she whispered. "Do the test one more time."

"There is no doubt about it," said the priest. "I can assure you."

"One more time," pleaded the woman. The priest sighed and bowed his head, then nodded.

"Very well," he said, knowing it was futile.

 

 

An hour after Jaina was due to meet him, Arthas was growing concerned. While it was usual for the woman to be late, there was no reason for her to be delayed between him and the Citadel. He inquired at the gate and was informed that she'd be out shortly. The prince sighed and shifted to a seat beside the gnarled tree.

It was another half an hour before the gates opened and Jaina exitted. She approached, her head down, her purple hood pulled far over her face. Arthas' heart fluttered in his chest as he stood tall and removed his hands from his pockets. As she got closer, he could see that she was weeping.

"Jaina?" whispered the prince. His hand gripped her shoulder and he pulled her in for a tight hug, burying his face in her hair. The woman clung tightly to him, rocking slightly. After a moment, she pulled back and wiped her tears. She couldn't meet his gaze.

"This is the end, Arthas," she whispered.

"What?" The prince put his hands on his shoulders and crouched slightly before her as he tried to meet her gaze. "I thought we worked through this! We'll-"

The blonde lifted her face, and the look in her eyes silenced him.

"I'm barren," she said flatly.

He stared for a moment, then said, "What?"

Jaina pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at her red eyes. "It was part of a routine test. I have no uterus, Arthas." She looked at the handkerchief in her hands, folding it neatly, then let out a sad chuckle. "I'm such an oblivious idiot that I had to have a priest explain the facts of menstruation to me at the age of twenty-two."

Arthas took a step away from her. He sank to a seat against the gnarled tree; the fabric of his cape caught on it and ripped. The torn strip fluttered in the wind above him as he brought his knees to his chest. Jaina watched the strip so that she wouldn't have to see the anguish on Arthas' face.

"You need to have children, Arthas," she murmured needlessly as she squatted before him. She forced herself to look into his eyes. "The people of Lordaeron would never stand for a barren queen. This is it. This is destiny confirm everything we feared. We aren't meant to be together."

The prince dropped his head and brought his hands up to clasp at the back of his neck.

"This is ridiculous," he muttered angrily, his voice cracking. He was glad that the curtain of hair hid his tears from view.

Jaina put a tentative hand on his heaving shoulder. "Arthas," she said, "we will be the best of friends. You will meet a beautiful woman who will become your queen, and I will be like an aunt to your children." She wasn't sure where this sudden inner calm was coming from, but she knew it would give way at any moment. She looked away in an attempt to delay the inevitable despair.

"No!" snapped the prince, and he lifted his head; his tear-filled eyes flashed. "I will never love anyone but you," he spat vehemently. "Don't ever say that again!"

"But it's true," she whispered, and now she looked down. "It has to be true. There is no choice."

"I will step down from the throne!" he growled.

"You can't do that," she said softly. "You know you can't."

He looked at his hands and let out a shuddering sigh.

"I love you, Jaina."

"And I love you," she replied quietly. "But that will pass in time."

The prince shook his head and cradled his knees tighter to his chest. "Let's take some time, okay? Let's think this through." It was too much to deal with at once; three days ago they had been happily in love without any real worry of separation...

Jaina sniffled and wiped a fresh tear from her cheek. "Arthas," she whispered. "There's nothing to consider."

"As your prince!" snarled the man. "I command you to stay with me!"

The woman laughed through her tears and ran a hand along his jaw. "Arthas," she whispered. "You can't stop this. Neither of us can."

"Don't say it!" he growled and he began to rock back and forth. "Don't...please don't say it..."

Jaina knelt before him and put her hands on his shoulders, making sure he looked into her watering eyes. His chest heaved with sobs as he held her gaze.

"Don't," he begged.

Jaina bowed her head. "Arthas, it's over."

She didn't allow herself to look back as she turned and walked away; her fists clenched and she closed her eyes to pretend that she couldn't hear the agonizing cries of the man she loved. He yelled her name once, then louder; she could hear him even from inside the gates. She kept walking. Her steps were slow and calculated as she walked up the long spiralled staircase of the sorceress' sanctum. One footstep at a time.

Only when she was in the safety of her room, the door firmly locked, did she sink to her knees and begin to sob.

 


	15. Book One - Epilogue

**Epilogue**

 

Jaina's sobs were evident even through the stone wall and thick wooden door. Kael hesitated, then steeled himself and knocked.

"Go away!" screamed a voice from inside; he had never heard her raise her voice. His stomach twisted.

"Jaina," he said, and he wasn't sure what else to add.

The sobs stopped.

"It's Prince Kael'thas," he added.

The door slid open; he jumped. Jaina smiled sadly at him. Her face was red and swollen, and her eyes watered.

"I knew who you were," she chastised softly, and she sniffled. Her hand rose to wipe at an eye. "I'm sorry; I'm a mess."

"Jaina...are you alright?" whispered the prince.

"I will be," murmured the blonde, and tears flooded her eyes again. The door creaked as she opened it. "Come in."

Kael padded into the room and slid into a chair by the table. Jaina sat on the bed a few feet away; her hands folded in her lap and she stared at them. The elven prince looked around the room. Her trunk was open and still packed. He squinted at the box that sat at the top of the contents; scrolls written on familiar parchment poked out of it. His heart leapt; she'd saved his ramblings? Brought them with her? What did this mean?

The woman lifted her head and stared at the glowing green balls orbitting above the elf's head. "Are those mana orbs?" she asked, remembering that he had mentioned them when they had visited Brennan. It occurred to her with a small shock that the incident had been less than two months earlier; it felt like longer. She looked at her hands again.

"I'll show you how to use them when you're feeling better," said the elven prince softly.

"I'm sorry, Kael," said the blonde without looking at him. "I meant to tell you everything..." She bit into her bottom lip. "Arthas and I broke up," she choked, and she dropped her face into her hands and began to weep again.

Kael sat frozen in place as he watched her. Eventually he managed to coax his legs to stand. He slid onto the bed beside her and awkwardly began to pat her back. She smelled of lilac and lavender. The prince's eyes closed and he took a long, deep breath.

Jaina sniffled. "It's all so much at once."

"It is," he agreed softly. Far too much at once. His only consolation was that fate would be hard pressed to find more troubles to throw at him; things could only get better. Sitting there, next to Jaina, things seemed very promising indeed. Even the deep gnaw of the magic, which had never fully left him, was quelled in her presence. The pads of his fingers gently massaged the base of her neck. Her head dropped in response.

"I didn't mean to hurt you, Kael," she whispered. "I suppose I'm too oblivious."

"It's okay," he murmured, even though it wasn't.

Jaina let out a small sigh and rested her head on the prince's shoulder, more out of fatigue than to make contact. Kael closed his eyes and reflected, somewhat guiltily, that this was the happiest he had felt since the day she'd left him. The thought made him so shameful that he stood and reached down a hand, eager to escape the bliss.

"Come, Jaina," he said gently. "I'll give you a tour of the grounds."

"It's late," said Jaina, surprised.

"I don't know about you, but I'll not be sleeping tonight," murmured the prince, and she guiltily noticed the swollen skin around his glowing white eyes. She nodded and took his hand, dropping it politely once she was on her feet.

"Everything's going to be okay, Jaina," said Kael gently.

The woman lifted her head and wiped at her tears; a forced smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

"I know," she whispered, far from convinced. "It will."


	16. Book Two - Prologue

  

 

**Book Two**

**Pétales**

**Sanguinolantes**

**_(petals streaked with blood)_ **

 

 

The horse's nose was wet and cold as it snuffled at its unconscious master's dewy face.  The man's eyelids fluttered beneath the curtain of tangled hair that masked his face.

The footman took a hesitant step towards the figure and the stallion.  From his angle, the man didn't appear to be moving.  He turned back to the knight, who sat on his horse, his mask pulled down over his face to give an aura of more dignity than he actually possessed.

"I'm telling you, he's dead," said the footman.  "Probably killed himself on booze."  There was an empty gin bottle by the man's hand, almost concealed by the high grasses.

The knight dismounted and took a tentative step towards the horse.  "Easy, lass," he said in a nasal, pinched tone.  The stallion lifted its head and let out a whinny, then shook out its mane.  It bent down again and began to nudge its master's neck.

"That horse...I know her from somewhere," continued the knight, putting a hand to his massive chin, which wasn't quite covered by his mask.

"I think you mean 'him,' sir," said the footman tactfully, meaning the stallion.

"Certainly not!" cried the knight.  "I do not know this drunken vagrant!  Filthy habit, drinking."  He spat at the man, missing by a good three feet.

The figure groaned suddenly, its back writhing as if in agony.  Then it lay still.  The two men froze and stared at it.

"He's not dead!" accused the knight.

"Then he's drunk off his head," said the footman.  "Poke him with your lance; see if he moves again."

"He probably has a filthy disease," protested the knight.  "I shall not soil my weapon with his grime."

The bedraggled man sat up; the other two jumped back.  The man's tangled blond hair masked his face, and he looked about, confused as to why he couldn't see.

"Who's there?" he slurred, his voice hoarse.

"See?  Drunk," said the footman. 

"Then leave him be; he's close enough to the town that someone will find him before he freezes to death."  The knight snorted, unimpressed.  "Hopefully he'll die of alcohol poisoning beforehand.  The world has too many drunks in it as it is."

The inebriated man's torso wavered and he waved a hand in the air.

"Oh-ho, if you...if you only knew...what I..." he slurred with some effort.  He swayed and then fell back to the grass in a dead faint. 

The footman stared.  "We can't just leave him," he said.  "He'll freeze to death."

"Well," said the knight, "it is an offense to be drunk in public, so I suppose we shall take him to the jailor, not leave him to the hands of the elements."  He stepped closer and aimed a kick at the man's side.  "Damn this ruffian for tarnishing my watch!"

The horse whinnied and began to prance in place.

"The stallion doesn't like you hurting his master," observed the footman.

"Stallion?"  The knight bent down and squinted at the horse's underside.  He cleared his throat, embarrassed.  "Yes, as I said, I swear I know that stallion from somewhere."  It was a magnificent beast; enormous and muscled.  He squinted as he tried to place it.

"Well, let's get him out of here."  The footman bent down and slid his arms under the drunk's ribcage; the soldier grunted.  The unconscious man was dense with muscle.  He managed to tilt the torso enough to get his arms under the shoulders... The drunk's cloak fell sideways to reveal his throat.

"Holy Light!" swore the knight, and he leapt backwards.  The footman dropped the man's shoulder and leapt away, too, then looked around frantically for what had made his superior jump.

"What is it?" he cried.

The knight lifted his mask to see better and pointed a shaky finger at the unconscious man.  The other stared.  Clasped at the man's throat was the regimental symbol of Lordaeron.  The footman dropped to one knee and lifted the hair from the man's face.  There was no mistaking the features, even if they were slightly bloated with intoxication and the cold.

"Holy hell, it's Prince Arthas!" he cried.

The knight's face faded to an interesting shade of green that was evident even in the dim moonlight.  The footman's brown eyes widened as he fixed them on his superior.

"So you just told the Crown Prince to his face that you hoped he would die of-"

"Silence!" ordered the knight.

"You kicked him!" protested the footman.

"Silence!" barked the knight again.  His enormous moustache twitched in a comical manner that suggested he was chewing the inside of his lip.

"The thing is," he said finally, "he's drunk.  He won't remember, and you won't tell anyone -- will you, Peterson."  There was a threat behind the words; the footman swallowed.  As much as he hated his superior, the knight was a renowned warrior with no mercy.

"Of course not, Sir," he replied.

The two soldiers turned to stare at their fallen prince.  The man now lay awkwardly on his side; vomit dribbled from his mouth. The knight gave a sigh of disgust.

"I suppose we should get Lord Uther," said the footman.

"Excellent idea," said the knight.  "I'll go fetch him; you watch the Prince."

"It's an awfully long ride to make alone," protested the footman.  "Lord Uther lives on the other side of town."  He didn't want to be held responsible if the prince died in his presence.

"You have your orders!" snapped the knight.  "Do as I say, or I'll report you for insubordination!"

The footman grumbled under his breath and fell to a seat in the long grass.  The knight mounted his horse and set off for the Capital City.

 

 

Arthas squinted as light flooded the crack between his eyelids.  He tried to raise his hand to shield the light, but it was coming from everywhere at once, so he ended up waving drunkenly in all directions.

Before his eyes had fully adjusted, the stench of vomit and ale thumped his nostrils.  He winced and his stomach lurched.  His mouth was soaked with the vilest taste he had ever experienced: vomit, old alcohol, sleep.  The pain hit every inch of his body next; his teeth clenched together and he heard a grunt, far away.

"He's coming to."  Uther's voice; flat, angry.  "Leave now."

"Lord Uther-"  That was Torina.

"Leave!" barked Uther.

Arthas groaned and opened his eyes to see an enormous bearded face hovering in his field of vision.  His mentor's arms were folded across his square chest; his jaw was set, and his eyes flashed.  Arthas blinked slowly, then struggled to open his eyes again.

"Uther?" he rasped; his throat was raw.

"Do you have any idea how lucky you are to be alive right now, boy?" growled the paladin.

Arthas blinked again, his eyelids still heavy.  "What...happened?" he croaked.  His head throbbed.

"You drank yourself to death and back, that's what," snapped his mentor; his cheeks turned tomato red, and a vein in his forehead pulsed.  He put a broad hand to his forehead in an attempt to steady himself.  When he was calmer, the hand dropped and his voice was softer. 

"You are very lucky that the priest had so much charcoal on hand, though I dread what it will do to your digestive system for the next several days."  His lips trembled with restrained fury.  "You are also very lucky that the night watch chanced upon you when they did so that you didn't freeze to death in a ditch!"

Now the disoriented Arthas remembered what had happened the previous afternoon.  Jaina.  He closed his eyes and let out a slow sigh as he fought the urge to weep.

"You are not to touch a drop of alcohol outside of my supervision for the rest of the year -- no, for the rest of your life -- do you understand?" cried Uther, panic evident in his voice.

"Yes, Uther," whispered Arthas.  He was too tired to stand up for himself, too tired to fight back.

The paladin started, a bit taken aback by his disciple's acquiescence.  "Good," he said finally, and he sat down on the bedside chair.  His hand combed into his greying hair; a sigh slid from his lips as he shook his head.

"Why is it," he murmured, "that every time you're finally behaving as a prince should, you feel you have to prove -- in increasingly ridiculous ways -- that you're still reckless and irresponsible?"

The prince bowed his head.  He felt no urge to excuse his actions, nor to argue with Uther's statements.  There wasn't any point. Still, Uther would eventually have to learn that he had separated from Jaina.  Perhaps the man could even break the news to the King; Arthas vaguely wondered if his father's heart was strong enough to withstand the shock.

He didn't look up as he rasped, "Uther, could you tell my father to cancel the dinner he was planning with the Lord Admiral?"  He sighed and closed his eyes.  "There is no need for it now."

His mentor stared for a moment, then looked down.  He had presumed the prince's irresponsible behaviour had stemmed from Jaina leaving, but he hadn't expected that they had actually separated.  His anger faded; he bowed his head and nodded.

"Of course, son," he said quietly.

There was an awkward silence.  Uther cleared his throat.

"There are better ways to deal with loss, Arthas."

"I don't care," whispered the prince.  He didn't want to deal with his loss.  He wanted the loss to be undone.  His eyes grew damp; he cursed under his breath and swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand.

"I want to be alone," he added, almost tersely.  The paladin hesitated, then stood.  His massive hand dropped onto Arthas' shoulder and he squeezed.

"I think the side effects of the medicine will prove enough punishment for you, lad, so you won't be disciplined at all for your irresponsible behaviour.  The men who found you have been paid off to keep quiet, and your father doesn't need to know."  The paladin looked away.  "But I will ask that you don't risk your life like that again.  This old heart can't take the stress of nearly losing you twice in as many months."

"I'm sorry, Uther," whispered the prince gravely.

The paladin gave a small, strained smile, then left the room.

Arthas rolled onto his side, his back to the door, and prayed to the Light to send him to sleep before his sorrow over Jaina sent him into tears.

The Light was blissfully consenting; he fell into a dreamless slumber and didn't stir until morning.

 

 

When the prince awoke, his body still ached from the abuse the night before, but his spirits were lighter.  It was difficult to feel sad and alone when the sunlight streaming through the window was crisp and the breeze that fluttered in carried a hint of warm hay.  He stood and stretched.

There was so much to do that he didn't have time to mourn for Jaina.  He had missed classes by riding with Jaina to Dalaran, and then by his incapacitation.  If he wanted to become a paladin, he would have to work hard and show that he was worthy of being re-accepted as an apprentice.

He was surprised to find that his time at the Cliffs with Jaina had increased his tolerance for study, and he threw himself headlong into his studies to hide from his grief.  He began to teach his classes with such fervour that within two weeks the paladins were talking about reinstating him as an apprentice to the Order.  When his father presented him with his very own mallet a few days later, Arthas began to train with Uther each day.  The sessions were short at first as he was still weak after his recent bout with the mysterious fever, but as his strength recovered, the lessons increased in length until they were spending several hours a day practicing.

At nighttime, however, there was nothing to distract him.  He tried to spend time with Syrius to distract himself, but the lord only wanted to search for new women to sleep with, and Arthas couldn't stomach the thought of being with anyone but Jaina.  So, he refused to go out with his friend, preferring instead to lie on his back, close his eyes, and picture the look on Jaina's face when they had made love for the last time.

He didn't weep over her, however, nor lose sleep; the only indication that he missed Jaina all was the fact that his smile, which had appeared so often during his brief courtship, was completely absent.  Thus, to everyone except those who knew him well, he appeared to be taking the separation in good stride.

 

 

Jaina, too, tried to distract herself by immersing herself in study.  The classes at the Kirin Tor weren't quite what she had expected; for the most part, they were independent research studies.  She had never done anything except study pre-written material, so the prospect of researching her own topics terrified her.   Fortunately, Kael was in her classes so she had plenty of help, and by the second week, she felt she fit in well.

It was strange to get to know Kael in person.  His awkward tour of the Violet Citadel had reminded Jaina of how much she liked the elven prince: he was polite, if a bit shy, and easy to talk to.  She was timid around him at first, mostly out of shame; she was now conscious of just how painful it was to be heartbroken.  Within less than a week, however, they were able to talk together for hours on end.  They had a lot in common, and she was beginning to see that they would have a great friendship.

Kael's heartbreak and magic withdrawal were both quelled in Jaina's presence, and he fell himself falling more in love with the woman.  He tried to give her privacy -- he knew she was sad about leaving Arthas -- but he couldn't resist spending every free moment with her.  Mina was skeptical.  The first day, after watching the blonde delicately rest her hand on Kael's arm during a conversation, the elven sorceress had rolled her eyes and pulled the prince aside.

"She's leading you on, sparky."

"I know it's a difficult concept for you to grasp, Mina," Kael had retorted, gallantly rising to Jaina's defense, "but it is possible to have a friendship where both parties are actually _pleasant_ to one another _._ "

The elf-woman's mouth had dropped, then she had tucked her auburn hair over her ear and turned away with a haughty sniff. She wasn't jealous, exactly, though she was peeved that she was suddenly Kael's second-best friend.  She was concerned that the woman who had already devastated her friend was now giving him false hope, and then would devastate him again.  Though Jaina seemed nice enough -- if a bit oblivious -- Mina immediately began to dislike her.  She was unfortunately forced to be civil in Jaina's presence, as the woman had now infiltrated all her classes and her study sessions with Kael, but she felt a growing resentment that began to vent itself through sarcasm and obnoxious behaviour.  Kael didn't seem to notice: he was too busy observing, with much delight, that Jaina didn't seem to be mourning Arthas.

Indeed, it was only in the evenings, when Jaina was alone, that her thoughts would wander to Arthas.  Many nights she lay awake wondering if things could have worked out after all; many mornings she awoke with a damp pillow and red, tear-stained cheeks.  She expected the feelings to lessen, but they only grew worse.  Her appetite didn't return at all after the morning she'd left him, and though she smiled often, her grins lacked conviction.  Her eyes grew dark with the sleepless nights; she took to wearing powder and pulling her hood far over her face to hide them.  It seemed to work, as no one showed any concern over her pallour.

And so, despite all appearances, both lovers were miserable.

 

 

Three weeks to the day that the couple separated, a small troll population was discovered twenty miles south of Dalaran.  The Kirin Tor was at the beginning of its quarter-year examinations for the students, and thus had no free resources; it requested that the King send a small party to scout the settlement.  The King was more than happy to oblige: he ordered Uther to send Arthas with Syrius, the Captain and a handful of soldiers.  It would be a good chance to test Arthas' leadership, and also a good chance for Arthas to visit Jaina.

"With all due respect, your Majesty," said Uther with a bow, "I do not think that it is wise to allow them to meet soon.  Arthas is sometimes a bit volatile, and he has been so calm lately; a chance meeting could only aggravate him and end his good behaviour."

The King smiled and leaned back in his throne.  "Twenty miles is no short distance, Uther," he said kindly.  "If he wants to see her, he will; if he doesn't, there is no need.  It is entirely at his own discretion."

And so the lovers would have contact for the first time since their separation.


	17. Book Two - I

 

 

**I**

 

"Just one pint," said Syrius.  Arthas sighed and leaned back in his chair; he folded his arms over his chest.

"I'm not touching anything but water," he said.  "Not when I'm so close to being reinstated."

The lord watched his friend for a moment, then waved the waitress over and ordered two pints of ale without so much as looking at her.  Arthas raised an eyebrow.

"You'd better be drinking that yourself," he said.  "I'm not having any."

"When Uther hears how you mowed down the troll leader, he'll be so proud that he won't care what you did to celebrate," said Syrius. 

A smirk tugged at the corner of the prince's lips.  "That was quite spectacular, wasn't it?"  He had only been expected to bring back information on the settlement, but he'd had a clear shot at the leader.  One furious blow of the mallet had sent the enormous beast's head flying across the battlefield.  Arthas still couldn't say for certain where the sudden strength had come from; he was still somewhat weak after his illness.  Perhaps he had finally found a way to vent his pent-up frustrations.

It was impossible to think about his frustration without thinking of the cause, and the prince's face fell.  He lifted his chin to gaze out the window of the pub; he and his soldiers were in the outskirts of Dalaran, near enough to the Violet Citadel to see its gleaming spires with the odd bulbous tips.  A sigh left his lips.

Syrius clapped the man on the shoulder.

"You should go see her," he said, guessing his friend's thoughts.

"See who?" muttered Arthas, and he quickly turned his back and began to talk to Captain Scarsdale.

Syrius sighed.  The clank of ale mugs on the table caught his attention; he turned to see the deep cleavage of the waitress who had served them.  The lord watched for a moment, his eyebrow raised.  Her skin was creamy and dark; she was probably from southern Azeroth.  The waitress caught him staring. She winked and then leaned close.

"You're cuter than most of my customers," she whispered with a tone that was almost shy.  Syrius' eyes slid closed and a slow smile tugged at his lips; her breath tickled his ear.

"You're cuter than most of the waitresses," he retorted with just the right amount of cheekiness.  The woman grinned and shook out her long black hair; it dusted the lord's shoulder.

"My shift ends in an hour."  A blush appeared on her cheeks.  "I'm not normally so forward," she said softly, "but you're the best-looking man I've ever set eyes upon."

Syrius' eyes opened; the smile had left his lips and now his eyebrows pinched.  The woman pulled away slightly.

"I'm off work at nine o'clock," she said in a hushed tone.  "Will you still be here?"

Syrius gave a melodramatic sigh as he regained his poise; he had a plan.  "I'd love to take you up on your offer-"  He hesitated.

"Raija," she supplied.

"Raija," he repeated, and he cocked his head in the direction of Arthas.  "But my buddy here is going through a rough time; I'm afraid to leave him alone."

The woman turned her emerald gaze to the prince.  She smiled, recognizing him at once.

"Several of my coworkers would die to give themselves to a prince, Milord," she said to the lord.  "Bring him along; they'll make sure he's entertained."  She blushed again.

Syrius reached out and ran his finger along the woman's softly rounded jaw.

"Then it's a date," he whispered solemnly.

The woman smiled then quickly turned to the table nearby to collect drink orders.  The lord waited until she was out of sight; he turned to Arthas and clutched the man's shoulder.

"We've got dates," he said, and he slid one of the mugs across the table.  Arthas sighed and picked it up; his earlier protests had been more for show than out of sincerity.  He clinked Syrius' glass and lifted it to his mouth.

Before the ale had touched his lips, the prince lowered his glass and stared at the other, his eyebrows raised.

"Dates?" he repeated.

Syrius smiled sheepishly.  Arthas let out loud huff of air slide from his nose to show exactly what he thought of the idea.

"Oh, come on," said Syrius.  "You're not going to suddenly turn chaste on me, are you?"  He crossed his legs, still titillated by the sight of the waitress' cleavage.

Arthas gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head, then lifted his glass again and drained it.  When he set it down, there was foam speckled in the stubble around his lips.

"I'm not going, Syrius."

"Either you come with me, or go see Jaina," said the lord firmly.

"Then I'm coming with you," replied the prince without hesitating.

Syrius stared for a moment; he had expected to convince the man to see his ex-lover.  "Oh," he said.

Arthas flagged the waitress for another ale.

 

 

Thus, the crown prince of Lordaeron found himself devastatingly drunk for the second time that month.  This instance, he was trapped in a tiny bedroom with four beautiful women.  They looked at him with narrowed, flirty eyes, each of them in different states of undress.  Their breasts were perky, their lips were glossy, and their legs were long and smooth.

And Arthas could only think of Jaina. 

The more adventurous of them, a busty brunette, dropped to all fours and began to crawl towards the prince, who was seated on the bed.  Her palm pressed to his ankle, and she looked up at him with blue, half-moon eyes as it began to slowly slide up the inside of his clothed calf.  When she passed the inside of his knee and began to move up his thigh, another of the maidens gained her courage and crawled forward to mimic the motion on his other leg.  The other two exchanged a glance then moved forward to sit on either side of him and trace the inside of his arms. 

Four half-naked women caressing each corner of his body, and Arthas couldn't slow his thoughts enough to enjoy it.  It seemed unfair to him that he was so drunk that he could barely move, yet his mind was sober enough to remember his miseries.  Now another annoyance began to distract him: the loud thumping coming through the wall.  The thought of Syrius in action sapped the last drop of arousal from Arthas' body.  He stood, pushing the women aside.

"Milord," said the adventurous one, and now the half-moon was a squint of sadness, not lust.  Arthas wavered; he clutched at a nearby armoire for support.

"Do we not please you?" she whispered.

The prince hesitated.  "I apologize, maidens; you are lovely, but my heart is no longer free."  The tiny sober part of himself marvelled at the cohesive sentence.

"It's because of the Proudmoore girl, isn't it?" said the blonde one softly.  She took a step forward.

"You leave Jaina out of this!" yelled Arthas, and the sober part of himself reflected that this statement had been far too loud for the circumstances.

The thumping from the adjoining room stopped.

Then the sober part of the prince realized that his drunken voice was yelling.  His cheeks were damp.  The women shrank away from him; one of them began to weep.  He tried to calm his words, but he had lost control of his body.

Someone grabbed his shoulder; Arthas yelled and turned with a sloppy right hook.  The fist connected with Syrius' cheek. It wasn't a hard punch, but it caught the drunken lord by surprise and he took a few steps backwards, clutching at his face.

Arthas stared, breathing hard. Then he roared and launched himself at his friend. His reflexes were so slow that Syrius, drunk as he was, was able to sidestep and grip the man's wrist.  He twisted the arm and stood behind the prince; Arthas yelled and swore and sobbed, tears streaming down his face.

"Calm down!" snapped the lord, exasperated.  Arthas began to yell again; Syrius jerked his wrist, and the prince's protests faded once more to unintelligible sobs as he was forced to press his face into his knee.

The waitress Raija rushed into the room; she was fully clothed, and held the rest of the lord's clothes in her arms.  The lord cursed and released his friend's wrist. Arthas crumpled to the ground and began to sob at his friend's feet.

"I'm sorry," apologized Syrius, tense.  "He's going through a rough time."  He delivered a restrained kick to Arthas' ribs; the prince rolled onto his back, still sobbing.

"Please leave," said the woman coldly, and she dropped his clothes on the floor.

Syrius closed his eyes for a moment then bent down to grab his garments.  He dressed self-consciously as five pairs of eyes watched him.  When he had finished, he crouched to put a hand on Arthas' shoulder.

"Come on, buddy," he said, trying to hide the annoyance from his voice.  "Let's go."

His first instinct was to head back to the camp and sulk, but when Arthas unsteadily mounted his horse, he sat there with his head low and a hand pressed to his face. The lord hesitated.

"What the hell is the matter with you?" he snapped finally.  He was beginning to regret that he had let his friend drink so much.

Arthas' shoulders still heaved; he didn't answer.  Syrius watched him for a moment, then gritted his teeth as he made his decision.

He turned the horse and began to lead his friend toward Dalaran.

 

 

In the library of the Violet Citadel, the last student drifted through the doors to head to bed, leaving the room utterly empty save for an elf and a young woman.  Though the room was crowded with enormous bookshelves and dozens of long oak tables, the ceilings were so high that gave an ominous echo to each spoken word or shuffled page.

Kael looked at the clock on the wall and sighed; he scraped the bottom of his boot along the small green tapestry beneath the table.

"It's getting late," he said, wondering where Mina was.

"I'm not going to sleep tonight," said Jaina. She had been too impatient to wait for the elven sorceress, so she had started her notes without waiting. Kael was content to observe Jaina out of the corner of his eye as he pretended to be watching the door for Mina's entrance. The blonde hunched over her book; her hand scribbled furious notes on the notepad with a pencil.  A second pencil was tucked over her ear, forgotten, and Kael smiled.  The woman was hopelessly disorganized.  He did love that about her.

"You aren't sleeping?" he repeated, surprised; she had slept so little lately that he had expected her to rest well before the examination.  Jaina looked up; her eyes were slightly unfocussed, and there was a smudge of graphite along her cheek.

"I have a lot to prove on this exam, Kael," she said. She turned back to her notes.

"Then I'll stay up and study with you," resolved the elven prince, even though he knew that his body was going to hate him for it the next day.  He leaned over to see what page she was on then flipped his book open, too.

The prince's milky eyes had barely scanned the first sentence when yells reached his ears.  His head snapped up.

"What is that noise?" he asked, annoyed; he required absolute silence to study.

Jaina strained her ears; her hearing wasn't nearly as good as the elf's.  It was a few moments before she heard laughter and hollering.

"Drunks," she muttered.  "They'll pass soon."  The library, though large and exquisite, was far from soundproof.  The cackling echoes of inebriated students often punctuated nighttime study.  She began to erase the last word she'd written.

Kael tilted his head as he strained to hear the voices.  "They're asking for you."         

"Who?"  Jaina dropped the eraser and looked up.

"The drunkards."  One of the prince's wheaten eyebrows arched as he placed the voice.  "Ah, lovely.  Visitors from the Capital City."  He let out an irritated huff and shook his head.  "Shall I alert the guards?"

Jaina stared at him for a moment, then stood and rushed to the double doors.  She wasn't two feet from them when they swung open.  There stood Syrius and Arthas, leaning heavily against one another, dressed in the leather clothes worn beneath armour in battle.  The stench of alcohol and sweat hit her nostrils, and she stepped back, covering her nose.

 "There you are, Jaina!" said Syrius, staggering under Arthas' weight.  "He wasn't gonna come see you, so I got him drunk enough to change his mind."  He tactfully left out mention of their previous activities. Had Jaina not been distracted by Arthas, she would have noticed that the lord's cheek was swollen to almost twice its usual size.

"You shouldn't have done that, Syrius." The sorceress dropped her hands to rest her fists on her hips; despite her confident stance, her gaze was timid as she looked up at the prince. A smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

"Jaina?" said Arthas, and his eyes lit up.  He stood tall, swaying a bit. "What are you doing here?" He stared at her, a dumbstruck smile on his face.

Kael had stood the instant that the other prince had entered the room, and now his red boots clacked against the marble as he strode across the room.

"Isn't this a piteous sight?" he growled.  "It seems the Crown Prince of Lordaeron can't hold his liquor anymore than he can hold a decent conversation."  He folded his arms over his chest and stood tall, a little closer to Jaina than she was comfortable with.  She tactfully stepped sideways.

Arthas' eyebrows lowered and he turned his head to glare at the elf. 

"You," he growled.

"Coherent as always, I see."  Kael sneered.  "You are an intellectually stimulating man, Arthas; I see why the beautiful women always fall for you." 

Jaina stared at the elven prince. She had never heard so much bitterness in his voice.  The elf gazed coolly up at the man, a small smirk on his lips.

"I hate you," snapped Arthas, childlike.  He began to lurch forward; Syrius held him back with surprising dexterity.

"Calm yourself, Arthas," murmured Kael, his voice heavy with irony.  "I did not mean to offend.  Now, if you'll excuse us, Jaina and I have some studying to do for our exam tomorrow."  He bowed and then turned.  "Come, Jaina," he said.  "Let them stagger away."  He rested a clawed hand on her shoulder.

"In a minute," muttered the woman irritably; she jerked away from him.

Kael's brows fell.  He opened his mouth to speak, but Syrius stood tall and put his hand to the elf's chest, pushing him aside.

"Sorceress Jaina," said the lord, his voice grandiose.  "The Prince uses his right to the succession of the crown of Lordaeron, to order you to give him a blow job.  If you refuse to comply, he will order your execution-"

"Shut up," snapped Arthas as he recognized what Syrius was saying.

"How dare you!" growled the elven prince.  "No one talks to Jaina that way!" His white eyes glowed; he stepped closer to the lord, his fingertips glowing with the beginnings of a spell.

The sorceress caught his arm and pulled him back. "Kael," she said pointedly.

The elven prince stared at her, hurt.

"Please go back to the table," she said softly. "I'll be along shortly, alright?"

Kael grumbled; he stormed back to his seat and sank into it, watching the drunkards from under lowered brows. The magic of his ancestors bubbled in his veins for the first time in weeks, begging to rid the world of the arrogant prince and his boorish friend. He tried to distract himself by crossing his toes in his boots; the curved toenails dug into his skin and provided ample agitation.

Syrius clapped a heavy hand onto Jaina's shoulder; she jumped so quickly that the pencil that had been tucked over her ear slipped and fell to the floor.

"For the love of God, Jaina, do something," pleaded the lord.  "He won't stop moping around about you-"

"Shut up!" said Arthas again.  He put a hand to his forehead.  "Screw this.  I'm going back to...to camp."  His head spun.

"You'll never make it anywhere in that state," muttered Jaina.  She looked down and folded her arms over her chest, rocking slightly.  "Stay in my room.  You can head back to camp when you're sober."

"What?" barked Kael, and this time he stood up so quickly that he knocked over his chair.  The sorceress turned to look at him, surprised at the anger in his voice.

"I was planning to stay up all night anyway; they might as well use my room while I'm not there."  The woman turned to look at Arthas shyly from beneath her hood.  "Besides, I can't very well send away someone who was so nervous about seeing me that he had to get drunk out of his mind just to find the courage."

Arthas beamed at Jaina, his cheeks glowing.  She blushed and looked down with a smile on her lips.

Kael stared; she was flattered by the prince's drunken display?  He sighed and rested his palms on the table then dropped his head.  He was never going to understand the woman.

Jaina stepped forward and pressed her hand to Arthas' arm.  "I'll escort you," she whispered.  Her staff swung in an arc, the orb at the tip glowing; she, Arthas and Syrius teleported from view.

The elven prince sat down and slumped until his forehead rested against the cool table. He let out a long sigh.

"Very nicely done, sparky," said an amused voice.  "Excellent self-control with the snide comments."

The elven prince gritted his teeth. "How did you get in here?" he asked, annoyed.

The sorceress' high-heeled boots clicked across the marble floor to stand behind him.  Kael sighed and lifted his head; he glared straight ahead.

"You chose a fine time to show up.  We waited for an hour before we decided you weren't coming."

Mina grinned.  "Sorry I'm late, hon.  Cosmetic emergency."  She smirked and blew on her still-damp nails.  "Glad I came when I did, though. I'd forgotten how cute Prince Arthas is when he's drunk.  He's like a big teddy bear."  She slid into the seat next to Kael and let out a happy sigh.

"I see," said Kael, far from interested.  Since Jaina had arrived, Mina took every opportunity to point out that she had once slept with Arthas; he didn't understand why.  No one cared.  He righted his chair and sat in it.

"He gets so desperate to hold someone; very cuddly."  Her grin stretched and her head lolled backwards.  "He has this habit of nuzzling into a woman's breasts-"

Kael stood to leave.  Mina caught his wrist and shot him a dazzling white smile.

"Don't worry, honey.  You saw him; he's as terrified of her as you are. Nothing will happen."  She tugged him back to a seat.  "Shall we study?"

"Study?"  Kael gripped at his temples and leaned forward.  "I can't even think straight for worry!"

"She'll be back in a moment, sugar," soothed Mina.  She picked at one of her nails; it was already chipped, and it hadn't even dried yet.  How had that happened?  She hadn't done anything but teleport.  A frown slid across her lips. 

"Do you have your lacquer with you, hon?" she asked.  The Sunstriders were known for their red varnished nails, and Kael had picked up the habit again now that Jaina was in Dalaran.  In fact, he'd been preening himself more than usual, to Mina's amusement and disgust.  Some days he even put braids in his hair, or curled the ends of his eyebrows in the fashion popular among elven men.  That night it appeared that he was wearing eye shadow.  She snickered.

"Why would I bring my lacquer to the library?" asked Kael, ignoring her chuckles.

"Then I suppose it'll have to wait."  Mina opened her book.  "So, what are we reviewing?"

Kael cast an uneasy glance at the door, anxious for Jaina to return.

 

 

Syrius darted into the hall to look for a lavatory as soon as they reached Jaina's room, deliberately leaving the couple alone.  Arthas sat on the bed and looked at his hands, morose as a wave of sobriety hit him.  Jaina let out a quiet sigh and sat next to him.  Strong, familiar scents floated from his body; her eyes filled with tears.  She stubbornly blinked them away.

"I've missed you, Arthas," she confessed.

Arthas buried his face in his hands.

"I want to be your friend," insisted the woman.  "I don't want to cut you out of my life -- that's not why we...why I..."  She trailed off. 

"I don't want to discuss this now," muttered the prince, his voice slurring.

They were silent for a moment. Jaina looked down; she tapped her heels against one another as she decided what to say.

"I guess you're taking things pretty hard, then," she whispered finally.

"I guess you aren't," he growled without looking up.

The blonde let out a noise that was close to a guffaw. "Arthas," she said, and a tear trailed down her cheek, "I haven't had more than three hour's sleep in a night since I arrived here." She sniffled and ran the back of her hand across her eyelids. "I miss you terribly," she whispered.

Arthas didn't look up.

Another tear trailed down Jaina's cheek, and she stood to find a handkerchief.  "We'll be fine," she murmured.  "It will pass.  We just have to be patient." The handkerchief was hidden under a stack of papers; she dabbed her eyes.

"I don't want to be patient." Arthas' voice was almost too quiet to hear.  The urge to take him to her bosom to console him was overwhelming.  Instead, the sorceress stood.

"I should leave you now," she said.  "I really do have a lot of revision to do."  As the newest member of the Kirin Tor, she had a lot to prove on the exams. She sniffled.

Arthas took a deep breath of air in through his nose; he let it out in a long sigh.  Jaina watched him for a moment, then leaned forward and put a hand on his shoulder.  He looked up with red eyes. 

"Write to me, Arthas," said the blonde softly.  "Come visit.  I'll do the same."  She smiled; her lips quivered.  "I want to be your friend."

The prince's eyes narrowed and his head dropped again.  His demeanour made it clear that he wanted her to leave.  The blonde bowed her head and nodded, then turned away.

"It's not too late," said Arthas softly, his voice cracking.  "It could work out."

"We both know that's not true," she whispered without looking back.  "Sleep well, Arthas."

The door closed behind her.

"Sleep well," he repeated, and he began to weep for the first time since the day she had left him.

 

 

Kael paced the library floor, his boots clicking on the marble; Mina sat at the desk, still fussing with her nails.  Jaina wiped at her moist cheeks and tried to compose herself as she entered the enormous room, but her red, blotchy face made it obvious that she wept.  When the elven prince saw the woman, his mouth dropped and he ran up to her.  One hand gripped her shoulder; the other fished in his pocket for a handkerchief.

"Did he hurt you?" asked the prince fiercely.  He found the cloth and held it out.  She took it and brought it to her face.

"Of course he didn't hurt me," whispered the blonde.  She dabbed at her cheeks then raised an eyebrow.  "What is it with you and Arthas?  I've never seen either of you act so childish!"  If she meant it to be a light-hearted statement, her tears darkened her tone.

Mina shifted in her seat and said something in Elvish.  Kael aimed a chopped, annoyed sigh in her direction.  He dropped his hands from Jaina's shoulders; they walked back to the table.  The prince slid into his seat and rested his chin in the palm of his hand as he chastised himself for annoying Jaina.  If she wanted him to be less childish around Arthas, he would be.

"Well," said Mina, annoyed, "what are we studying?"

"We were on page two-thirty-two," replied the blonde.

"I'm sorry for my actions, Jaina," said Kael.

"Page two-thirty-two," repeated Mina, and she flipped her book open. "Shall I read?" she added with forced civility.

"Sounds good," replied Jaina.

"It won't happen again," continued Kael.  The two women looked at him, surprised that he was still speaking.

"It's just difficult for me to understand what anyone could ever see in him," added the prince, and he bowed his head to avoid Jaina's piercing blue gaze.

"What does anyone see him?" asked Mina, unable to resist the bait.  She leaned back in her chair, rocking it dangerously.  "Broad shoulders, I suppose.  Chiselled features.  Velvet voice.  That bit of delicious arrogance.  Oh, and that way he grunts like he's in pain during sex."

Jaina closed her eyes and sighed.  In the short time she had known Mina, she was already growing very aware that it was best not to have any serious conversations in her presence.

For a moment, no one spoke.  The elven sorceress grinned at the awkward silence. 

"Page two-thirty-two," announced Kael.  He cleared his throat and began to read.

 

 

"Oh, no," muttered Syrius with disgust; he had returned to the room to find the prince sobbing into Jaina's pillow.  The lord hovered in the doorway as he decided how to react.  Part of him felt sorry for his friend; most of him was still frustrated at getting yanked from the arms of a beautiful woman. His cheek throbbed and he restrained the urge to deliver a similar blow to his friend's face.

"Get a hold of yourself, Arthas," he said finally.  Even in his drunken haze, he reflected that this wasn't the most helpful phrase.

"Leave me alone!" slurred Arthas.

Syrius sighed and sat next to the prince; the bed creaked under their weight.

"I've never seen you this upset about a girl," murmured the lord.  Really, he hadn't seen the man upset about anything.  He patted his friend's back.  "It's okay.  It's only been a few weeks; you'll get over her soon enough."

Arthas turned to glare at the other; his eyes were narrow and his brows dangerously low.

"You," he growled, "tricked me into coming here.  You did it on purpose...for your own amusement!"

The lord hesitated. He had hoped to reunite his friend with Jaina, not amuse himself.

"You're just annoyed that I won't go prowling with you!" accused Arthas.  "You aren't concerned for me at all!"  The sober part of himself realized how pathetic he sounded; this made him angrier.

"Oh, for..."  Syrius stood.  "You know what?  I'm okay to make it back.  You stay here and get yourself together."  He turned away.  "See you back at camp," he muttered.

Arthas didn't even look up as his friend left.  He rolled onto his back and stared at the bare rafters of the high ceiling.  There were cobwebs nestled between them, and for a moment he thought he would impress Jaina by cleaning them for her, but then he remembered that he was drunk and could barely stand, let alone balance on a chair.

The prince's mouth closed and he took slow, sniffling breaths through his nose in an attempt to slow his tears. His hands curled into a pillow and he brought it to his chest in a tight embrace.

 

 

"Jaina."  Kael shook the slumbering woman's shoulder.  She barely stirred; a soft snore slid from her lips.  The prince called her name louder; she didn't move.  He sighed.  She hadn't been sleeping enough.

Mina slid her book shut and yawned.  "Well, honey, I'm going to bed."

"What shall I do about Jaina?" asked Kael.  He didn't have his mana orbs with him, so he would be unable to focus the energy required to teleport both of them -- and even if he could, where would he take her?  Certainly not back to her room.

"Improvise."  The sorceress stretched, then stood.  "Goodnight."

"Mina," said Kael.  "Can she at least sleep in your room?  On the floor, perhaps?"

"I think the floor's much softer in your room," said Mina with a hint of vehemence.  She waved her staff in front of her body and disappeared.  Kael sighed.

Jaina didn't even flinch as he slid one arm under her legs, the other behind her back.  The elf grunted; he hoisted her to his chest. 

The winding staircase of the mages' dorms seemed exceptionally long and narrow with the extra weight in his arms.  Not that he minded it; Jaina was soft, and warm, and she smelled delicious.  Still, he hadn't had much occasion to exercise lately, and his metabolism didn't allow for him to keep muscle easily.  It was a struggle to keep her aloft and move along the stairs at the same time.

The woman's face was peaceful as the elven prince lay her in his bed.  Against his better judgment, he sat beside her and ran a knuckle gently across her brow.  Her jaw was tense and her lips were bowed in a frown.  Kael sighed again and then bent down to plant a gentle kiss on her forehead.  As he drew back, the woman shifted and hugged the down quilt tightly to her body.

A tear slid from her eye and a small sob left her mouth. She whispered something too faintly for him to hear, but it wasn't difficult to imagine whose name she whispered in her sleep.

Kael dropped his head and slid the heel of his hand from his brows to his hairline; he took a long, shuddering breath.  When he had finally composed himself, he turned and slid the covers up to Jaina's neck.  His knuckle brushed her cheek one last time.  He stood to fetch his mana orbs.

His white eyes glowed and his lips flared into a sneer.

The elven prince teleported to the hallway outside of her room.  His feet were heavy as he padded across the stone floor, heavier than they had been when she was in his arms.  His hand hesitated at the knob; his knuckles turned white as he gripped it.  At last he steeled his courage and softly opened the door. 

Arthas sat on the bed, hugging Jaina's pillow.  His eyes and cheeks were tearstained in the lamplight, and he blinked for a moment at Kael, trying to clear the blurry face.  Recognition overcame his features; his eyes narrowed.

"If you want a fair fight, mage, this isn't the time," he snapped, his voice cracking. His speech had lost its slur.

Kael stared; the anger fled his body as he took in the prince's tearstained cheeks and quivering lip.  He let out a sigh and slid the door shut.

"Well, Arthas," he murmured, "it appears I misinterpretted the situation."  The mage sat in a chair by the desk and watched the other with something close to pity. "I came here to berate you for breaking Jaina's heart." He cracked the knuckles of one hand.

"This is none of your business," muttered Arthas.  "Go away." He hastily wiped at his eyes and tossed the pillow aside.  It was mortifying to weep in front of his rival, and he wished he had his sword so that he could cleave the other in two.

Kael folded one leg over the other and clasped his well-manicured fingers over his knee. "So why would the Crown Prince of Lordaeron and the daughter of Lord Admiral Proudmoore separate if they were truly in love with one another?" he mused with genuine curiosity.

Arthas was certain he heard a hint of smugness in the tone.  "I said, go away, elf!" he growled.

The elven prince watched the man.  On the one hand, he still hated the man; on the other, he knew how much it hurt to lose Jaina.

Kalnaka could help Arthas.

The elf's stomach twisted at the thought, even though he knew it would make both parties happy. Kalnaka wanted business; Arthas was wealthy and heartbroken. It made perfect sense. Jaina wanted him to stop acting childish, so he would be noble instead. He set his jaw.

"Arthas," said Kael, and he clenched his fists.

The other looked up with his brows low but his eyes glistening. "Go away," he snarled. "I told you, this is none of your business. I don't want your pity."

Kael looked down and stood, relieved that the other had unknowingly absolved his obligation to recommend him to Kalnaka.

"No," he agreed. "You're correct; it isn't my business." His throat tightened; he cleared it and stood. "We'll settle things some other time." He bowed his head and began to walk to the door.

"You won't tell Jaina," said Arthas sharply. "That I was...like this." He sniffled and wiped his eyes.

Kael stopped, but didn't turn around.

"Just because I despise you doesn't mean I don't respect you," he said flatly. "She will hear nothing, nor will anyone else. Though, for what it's worth, there's no shame in being heartbroken." He sighed and added pointedly, "Though I must admit: I rejoice that you are finally experiencing the sorrow that you have often caused others."

"We'll discuss this later, elf," snapped Arthas at the other's back. Preferably when he had a sword in one hand and a mallet in the other.

Kael smirked. "I'll consider that a promise. Goodnight, Arthas."

The door closed behind him.

The elven prince went directly to Mina's room. She answered with the makeup removed from one eye; a mauve-stained washcloth was in her hand. Kael stared for a moment.

"You should consider that design for your Reda'nas," he said seriously. The purple makeup formed a four-pointed star over her left eye, and it was striking on her.

"Ha, ha," said Mina dryly. "What do you want, sparky?" She yawned pointedly, then began to swab at her made-up eye.

"I almost gave Kalnaka's address to Arthas," murmured Kael; he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

Mina's hand froze and she stared at her friend. "Are you insane?"

"I didn't," said Kael defensively. The sorceress shook her head.

"You are addicted to misery, Kael," she stated. "Stop trying to find ways to break your heart, alright? Don't even think about Kalnaka with Prince Arthas. It isn't going to help you feel better."

The prince sighed; he hadn't expected to be chastised, though he reflected that he probably needed it. He bowed his head and turned to grip the doorknob.

"Where are you going?" asked Mina, exasperated.

"To watch Jaina sleep," whispered the prince. "Someone has to be there to wake her up in the morning."

The sorceress shook her head. "You're deluding yourself, sugar. You're just going to make it worse in the long run."

The prince met her gaze. "Believe me, Mina," he said, "There are far worse things I could do to distract my thoughts."

 

 

He shook Jaina's shoulder an hour before the exam was to begin.  She sat up, confused, as she tried to figure out where she was. The room was bare save for a scroll that hung above the mantle; it was written in Elvish. She turned with wide eyes to see Kael.

"It's okay," he said, forcing a smile at her horrified expression despite the fact that it hurt him -- was he really so terrible to wake up to?  "You needed a place to sleep."

Jaina stared, then suddenly remembered what had happened.  She leapt from the bed and ran from the room without looking back. If she had remembered her staff, she could have teleported, she thought with a curse. Her breath came in short gasps as she reached the base of the sorceress' sanctum.

Arthas was gone when she arrived at her room.  The blonde sat on the bed and buried her face in the pillow; the scent of his musky skin was there, briefly, until her nose adjusted and it fled from her grasp.  When she lifted her face, she noticed that Kael hovered in the doorway, crestfallen.  Guilt twisted her stomach.

"Kael," she said gently, "thank you for letting me use your room.  I'll meet you at the examination hall."

"Of course, Jaina. I'll save a seat for you."  He bowed his head and teleported away with some difficulty; he was exhausted after a night without sleep.

Jaina pressed the pillow to her face again, then lowered it once more.  It took her a moment to notice the note on her desk.  She sniffled and wiped at her eyes, then stood and grabbed it.

 _Jaina,_ it read, _I'm sorry.  Arthas._

The woman wanted to sit and write a long letter; she wanted to tell him that he had nothing to apologize for, that she should be the one apologizing, that she loved him and that would never change.  She wanted to beg him to run off with her into the depths of Azeroth where they could frolic for the rest of their lives without any responsibilities, without the need to bear children.

The tip of her pen had rested on the paper for so long that a large ink blot had formed. She moved the nub further down the paper.

 _Arthas,_ she wrote, _I was happy to see you.  Please come visit again.  I really do want to be your friend._

She hesitated, then decided there was nothing else she could say; she signed the parchment and sealed it. 

Jaina looked at the clock on the wall; half an hour until the exam.  She should go meet Kael in the cafeteria and they could do some last minute studying over breakfast.  Though, perhaps it was best to go straight to the examination hall.  She had been late for the last exam, much to her embarrassment, so it was probably best not to take chances this time.

Besides, she had no appetite lately.  Between her thirst for knowledge and her sorrow for Arthas, she had too much on her mind to worry about eating.

Jaina slipped the letter into her books and left the room. She would send it after her exam.

 

 

Uther's brows knotted with concern as his disciple stormed into the throne room that afternoon.  Arthas' eyes were puffy, the bags beneath them so dark that he looked to have two black eyes.  His mouth was set in a deep frown, and his shoulders slumped.  Uther wanted to ask what was wrong, but this would be inappropriate when the King was waiting.  So, he stood by, stepping to the side of the doorway as Arthas entered.  The prince withdrew his sword and stood its tip against the marble as he sank to a kneel behind it.

"Father," he said, the respect in his words contradicting his angry features.

"You may rise, my son," said the King, and he sank to a seat, too exhausted to stand any longer.

Arthas stood, his head bowed.  He listened somewhat groggily as his father sang his praise for the scouting operation.

"You have shown that you can lead missions with skill and tact, and from what I have heard, you have finally begun to learn not to let your passions interfere with battle strategy."

Arthas didn't know whether to glow with the praise, or be insulted by the patronizing tone, so he did neither.

"Thank you, Father," he murmured tonelessly.

"I am having Uther reinstate you as an apprentice paladin.  You can, of course, continue to work with the new recruits if you wish."  The King turned to look at the paladin, who stood respectfully by the door.  "Uther assures me that your work with them has been most impressive as of late, in spite of...everything."  He bowed his head at the paladin, who mirrored the gesture.

"Thank you, Father," repeated Arthas, furious.

The King smiled and then raised his chin.  "You are both dismissed."

Uther fell into step beside the prince; he waited until they were out of earshot to speak.

"Are you alright, lad?" he asked solemnly.

"I'm fine," muttered Arthas.

Uther looked at him with pity; the prince caught his concerned gaze.

"I don't want to talk about it," he muttered as he picked up his pace.  Uther caught the prince's shoulder, spinning Arthas around. The prince folded his arms over his chest.

"Leave me alone, Uther," he growled.

"Let's go to the study," said the paladin gently.

The prince hesitated.

"Let's go, lad," said Uther, and he began to walk.

The prince reluctantly followed.  His head throbbed with hangover, and he recognized that if Uther found out he had been drunk, there would be punishment.  He was also furious with Syrius; their few exchanged words on the ride home had been terse.

"Don't talk to me," the prince had snapped, cutting off Syrius' concerned remarks.  "Do you have any idea how much of a fool I made out of myself?  What the hell were you thinking?"

"Oh, stop it," the lord had snapped.  "You would have been in a worse mood had you come all this way and not seen her."  His brows had dropped.  "And by the way, I'd like to remind you that your ridiculous little tantrum tore me from the arms of a beautiful woman before I had even finished! And you bloody hit me!"

"Next time I want you to cheer me up, Syrius, I'll ask for it," the prince had muttered, and that had been the end of their conversation for the day.

The paladin sat in his normal chair in the study; it rocked slightly under his weight.  He reflected that he would have to commission one of the workers to fix the leg. It had been uneven for weeks.  Arthas slide into a chair across from him and slumped into it.  His mentor watched him for a moment.

"Congratulations on being reinstated, lad," he said gently.  "I expect it won't be more than a month or two before you are accepted into the Order as a full-fledged paladin."

Arthas didn't reply; Uther smiled sadly.

"I expected you'd be thrilled," he said, hoping to draw out the cause of the prince's sorrow.

Arthas sucked in the gasp of air of one who is about to let out a sob and dropped his head into one hand.  His mentor waited patiently.

The prince managed to keep his tears at bay as he explained the specifics of the break-up to Uther.  He hadn't yet told anyone of Jaina's infertility.  Uther listened; his heart broke for the boy. 

The prince spoke of how Syrius had brought him to see Jaina -- avoiding mention of alcohol -- and how the sight of her had brought him to tears for the first time since she had left him.

"I couldn't even speak to her, Uther," said the prince, frustrated.  He ran his hands through his hair and dropped his head back with an audible sigh.  "All I could do was blubber like a child."

"It's only been three weeks, lad," said the paladin gently.

"Our relationship didn't even last three full weeks!" snapped Arthas.  "How long is it going to take to forget her?"

The paladin bowed his head and sank back into his chair.  "I'm sorry you have to go through this, Arthas.  It is a pain that far too many people bear, but I always hoped you would be spared."

"No one can know my pain!" growled Arthas.  "She loves me still, Uther.  It is my lineage that has damned our love!"

The paladin looked his student directly in the eyes.

"She was a princess, Arthas," he murmured.  "I was barely a priest at the time, a nobody.  Our love was strong, but she could never marry a man of my class."

Arthas stared at his mentor for a moment, not sure he understood.

"She married a man who was to become one of my closest friends," continued the paladin.  "Someone who had a rank suitable to match hers.  I became like a brother to both of them, but the tormenting love I had for her never faded."  He slid his finger and thumb along the bridge of his nose.  "I was there as she passed from this world."  His voice broke.  "The last word on her lips was her husband's name."

"Who was this woman?" whispered Arthas, a suspicion forming in his mind.

Uther looked down. "White roses were her favourite flower, as you know," he murmured.  "Her mother used to say she was as pretty and pale as a white rose, so she always insisted on carrying one with her.  I think it vexed her greatly that there were none in bloom with her before her death; indeed, none bloomed in Lordaeron that year.

"There are six of them on her gravestone, one for each month our relationship lasted.  I don't...I don't think your father ever figured that out."  Uther let out a slow, soft sigh and closed his eyes.

They were silent for a moment.

"Uther," whispered Arthas timidly, "are you my father?"

"Don't be ridiculous, boy!" snapped Uther.  "I would never betray the King like that."

"I was hoping you'd say yes," said Arthas hoarsely.  Life would be so much easier then; he could even marry Jaina.  He bent forward and cupped his forehead with his hands.  They were silent for a moment, each lost in thought.  At last, Arthas spoke.

"Do I remind you of her?"

"Sometimes," said Uther gruffly.  "You are more like your father."  Except when he smiled.  That full, straight-toothed grin was directly inherited from his mother.  The eyes, too: piercing and turquoise.  The paladin bowed his head, missing the woman immensely.

"How did you cope with it, Uther?" asked the prince softly.

"I went away, for a little while," said the paladin.  "But when I came back, everything was just as before.  So I threw myself headlong into my studies.  The Silver Hand had just been formed, so I helped with its foundation."

Arthas nodded slowly.  "Then I will keep busy, as well.  I will continue to teach the new recruits in addition to finishing my paladin's apprenticeship."

"Are you sure you're up for it?" asked the paladin gently.

"Yes, Uther," said Arthas firmly.  "It will be a good distraction."

The paladin smiled; he stood and put a hand on the prince's shoulder.  "She'd be proud of you, Arthas," he said fondly.  He bent down to kiss the man's forehead, then turned to leave.  He was almost at the door when Arthas spoke.

"It doesn't get any easier, does it," he stated.  Uther cast him a pitying glance.

"May your situation end more happily than mine," he murmured, then he turned and left the room.

 

 

Jaina received a reply to her scroll two days later.  _I need more time,_ was all it said.  The woman set the scroll aside and resolved not to push friendship until he was ready, no matter how desperately she wanted to hear from him.

Arthas in turn made no move to contact her. It was another four weeks before they met again.

 

 


	18. Book Two - II

**II**

 

         "He's what?" exclaimed Kael.  He snatched the scroll from Mina's hands and frantically read his brother's writing.

         "He's coming in two weeks!" bubbled the elven sorceress.  She hesitated at her friend's confusion.  "You didn't know, hon?  He said he told you he was applying."

         The elven prince cast a guilty glance at the corner of the room, where he had thrown his brother's scroll the night that Jaina had come to Dalaran.  The parchment was still neatly rolled, a faint layer of dust obscuring the brilliant green of the seal.  Kael delicately sidestepped to block it from Mina's view.

         "When he said he was applying, I had no idea he'd actually be accepted so quickly," he ad-libbed.  He added as casually as he could, "Did he say why, exactly, he's abandoning priesthood for the magic arts?"

         Mina shrugged.  "Maybe he just doesn't want to stay a virgin until marriage," she said innocently.

         Kael snorted.  "Eldin is as much of a virgin as you are," he said.

         "Well, sugar, maybe they found out that he's not and discharged him," replied the woman, blushing.  "Either way, he'll be here in two weeks."

         The elven prince bowed his head.  His brother's words from the night he had first obtained the journal flooded his mind: _I am going to train to be a mage, and I will master these secrets and become the greatest sorcerer ever.  Imagine the respect I'll command then!_

"Mina," he said, "promise me you won't give Eldin the key."

         "The key?" she said, confused as to why the younger prince couldn't know about it.

         "Yes, the key," said Kael with a slight growl.

         "Of course I won't, sugar," said Mina, confused.  The prince usually trusted her to keep secrets; though she loved to chat, she did respect people's privacy. 

          "Keeping the key tucked safely between your breasts probably isn't the wisest choice in this situation," added Kael dryly.  The woman smirked.

         "Of course not.  I'll hide it in my room."  She tilted her head.  "Are you going to tell me what this is about?"

         Kael glanced uneasily down the hall.  "The Archmage will be waiting for us," he said firmly.

         "And once we get there, we'll be waiting for Jaina forever anyway," pointed out the elven sorceress.  She hesitated then added softly, "The key has something to do with those books you were reading, right?  The one with Dath'Remar in it?"

         "One day, you will know everything, I promise," said Kael firmly but politely.  "Come; let's go."

 

 

         Jaina was, in fact, already waiting for them in the Archmage's office; even Kael was surprised that she had been on time.  He smiled at her as he slid into the wicker seat beside her.  Mina slouched into the empty seat beside him.

         The Archmage leaned forward and folded his knotted hands on the desk.

         "Bolomina," he greeted.  "Prince Kael'thas.  Glad you could join us."  There was a hint of irony in his voice; the elven prince bowed his head.

         "I am terribly sorry to have kept you waiting, Master," he said with such guilt that Mina chewed the inside of her lip to hide a smirk.

         "I think I will forgive you this once," said Antonidas, struggling not to smile as well.  He sat upright.  "I have asked you three here because Lordaeron has asked me to send aid to battle."  The troll settlements that Arthas had scouted a month earlier hadn't slowed despite their leader's death; if anything, they were gaining force, and King Terenas was sending a small battalion to deal with the problem before it got out of hand.

         "To battle?"  Jaina's eyes widened.  "Master, I can't fight!" she protested.

         "You didn't expect to sit quietly in the Citadel studying magic without applying it, did you?" asked Antonidas with a raised eyebrow.

          Jaina bowed her head.  Truthfully, she hadn't ever expected to be called to arms.  She hated the thought of killing another living creature, troll or not.

         "You will be in capable hands, Jaina," said Antonidas gently.  "Bolomina and Prince Kael will keep a strict eye on you, and I assure you that the leader of the battalion will go to any lengths to keep you from harm."  He raised a bushy eyebrow.

         Jaina's eyes widened and a flush rose to her cheeks.  Kael looked away.

         "You will meet the battalion at the southern city gates at eight o'clock," said Antonidas, addressing all three mages.  "You are dismissed."  He turned to the elven prince.  "Except for you, Prince Kael."

         When the others had left, the Archmage leaned forward.

         "It is none of my business what your relations to other students are, Kael, but it is my business to make sure that Lordaeron has our full co-operation."

         "Of course, Master," said Kael, his stomach knotting.  The elderly mage's voice dropped in pitch.

         "A very disturbing rumour reached my ears some time ago about an altercation between you and Prince Arthas on the battlefield," said the Archmage.

         The elven prince dropped his head and let out a soft sigh.

         "I thought nothing of it, of course," continued the elderly man.  "You have shown nothing but dedication and patience in the many years I have known you, and though I respect Lordaeron and all it stands for, Prince Arthas has something of an infantile temper."  His eyebrow jutted again.  "This is just between you and me, of course."

         "Of course," murmured the prince without meeting his master's gaze.

         "So, I naturally dismissed the rumour as a misinterpretation: certainly the mild-mannered, meek prince of Quel'Thalas wouldn't have a hand in such a crass, testosterone-ridden row."

         Kael winced.

         "But when we were in the Capital City, I happened to overhear some harsh words exchanged between you and the Prince."  The Archmage settled back into his chair and folded his arms over his narrow chest.  "Something about not attacking a defenseless target."

         The elven prince looked up, his eyes wide.  "Master, I did not mean to-"

         The Archmage waved for silence.  "I want you to know, Prince Kael, that if you touch even a hair on his head I will have you expelled from the school, regardless of your rank and years of dedicated service.  Do you understand?"

         The prince bowed his head further; his chin dug into his chest.

         "Yes, Master," he whispered.

          He was fuming as he left the office.  He had hoped Jaina would have waited for him, but only Mina waited outside, her arms crossed over her chest as she leaned against the wall.

         "Where's Jaina?" he asked.

         "Probably gone to start getting ready to see Prince Arthas," murmured Mina without any hint of sympathy.  "I overheard your discussion with Antonidas."

         Kael snorted; they began to walk down the hallway.  "I have no idea how he managed to overhear my conversation from so far away."

         "The old coot has spies everywhere," said the sorceress. 

         "He nearly killed me!" snapped Kael.  "To think of all those times I bit my tongue around him, only to have the one time I mouthed off actually make it back to my master!"  He stopped and aimed a punch at the wall; his knuckles glanced off of the stone, and he cursed.

         Mina bit back a smile.  "You know, sugar, you look a lot like Eldin when you get angry."

         Kael's eyes flashed as he turned to face her.  "Never compare me to him again," he said.  "I am nothing like him!"  His eyes flickered and then he frowned.  "Mina, I need to be certain he doesn't get his hands on that key.  Give it back to me and I'll give it to Jaina."

         "Certainly not!" said the sorceress, offended.  "Just because you're in love with her, she's suddenly more trustworthy?  She can't make it to meetings on time and she forgets spell books and pencils constantly; she's irresponsible.  Name one time that I've let you down."

         "That time you spiked my drink with black lichen before my first council meeting," growled the elven prince.  Mina chuckled.

         "Okay, then: other than that."

         Kael sighed and shook his head.  "The problem is that when Eldin is around you lose what little common sense you possess," he snapped.

         The sorceress shook her head.  "I liked you much better before you got that stupid book, whatever it is," she said.  She turned.  "I don't have to put up with this crap.  Have a good day, Prince Kael'thas."

         Kael stared after her, then waved his arm in front of his body and teleported to his room.

 

  
         "You're bringing your mallet?" cried Syrius as Arthas strapped the enormous weapon onto the saddle of his horse.  The prince glanced up at his friend and shrugged.

         "I've been training with it," he said tersely.  Though he and the lord were on speaking terms again, things were still tense, and they hadn't spent much time together in the previous month.

         "Last time I had to cover your back-"

         "Last time I whacked the alpha male's head off."  Arthas finished tightening the straps and mounted his horse.  He urged it into a walk as they headed to the area where the men stood waiting.

         "There will be many more this time," said Syrius.  "They will have regrouped."

         Arthas greeted Scarsdale and pulled alongside him as he looked across the men.  There were about forty men, mostly footmen and knights.

         "We're picking up two priests and three mages in the Alterac pass," said Scarsdale.

         "Great," murmured Arthas.  He dismounted and strode to the head of his army.

 

 

         "The sorcerers are here, Prince Arthas," said Scarsdale.  Arthas turned.  Jaina, Kael and Mina stood behind him, dressed in light armour.

         "Your majesty, " said Mina.  She and Kael dropped into a bow.  Jaina looked down under Arthas' gaze, then, remembering herself, dropped into a curtsy.  Arthas took a step closer.

         "You don't need to bow to me, Jaina," he said softly.

         Mina gave a quick cough; she and Kael stepped back, leaving the ex-lovers alone.  Jaina still stared at the grass.  Arthas took another step closer to her and rested a gloved hand on her shoulder.

         "You shouldn't be here," he said.

         She sighed and looked up at him, an eyebrow raised in defiance.

         "I'm leading this company," he murmured.  "If anything were to happen to you-"

         "It won't," she said tersely.

         He watched for a moment then said solemnly, "Then stay in the back lines."  He turned and mounted his horse, then rode to the head of the formation.

 

 

         Mina panicked as the trolls began to advance on her.

         A green pentagram formed on the grass beneath the trolls, one strand at a time; they didn't seem to notice.  Mina stared at it, confused.

         Flame erupted in an enormous pillar that shot up from the circle, engulfing the trolls.  They screamed; the stench of burnt earth and flesh overwhelmed Mina's senses, and she dropped to one knee.

         The pillar died.  Where the trolls had stood was a smouldering pile of ashes.  Mina lifted her head.

         On the other side of the charred ground, his eyes glowing bright white, was Kael.

         "What the hell?" she whispered.

         He stared at her for a moment, then turned to fight the attacking beasts.

 

 

         Arthas caught the beast's axe on the hilt of his mallet; a swing of the blunt weapon and the axe flew behind them, landing conveniently in the forehead of an advancing troll.  The beast that had swung the axe fell, its ribcage crushed by the prince's weapon.

         Two of the trolls attacked at once.  Arthas lunged at them, but a third troll had slid in from the side.  The hilt of its axe struck the prince's shin; he managed to take down one of the trolls as he fell.  The beast that had tripped him swung his axe at the mallet.  The wood was too strong to break, but the troll managed to knock it from the prince's gasp.  Arthas gritted his teeth and slid a hand into his boot to grab his knife.  The two beasts prepared to attack.  He couldn't take both out at once.  Syrius had been right; it really had been too early to use the mallet in battle.  Perhaps if he stabbed one troll in the foot it would fall and knock down the other.

         "Arthas!  Roll to the left!"

         The prince did so just in time to avoid a sudden, localized downfall of ice shards.  The trolls screamed as the blizzard ripped chunks out of their flesh. 

         Now Arthas saw that he had been lucky.  A group of five trolls had been not three feet behind him, prepared to ambush.  They, too, were victim of the blizzard.  Those that managed to stay standing jumped from the storm's radius and brandished their weapons as they faced their new attacker.

         Jaina smirked and halted the ice storm.  A water elemental sprouted from the ground on either side of her.  She cocked her head in the direction of the trolls.

         Arthas tried not to let his pride paralyse him.  He lunged for his mallet and stood, sweeping the weapon as he did so.  Between him and the water elementals, the trolls fell within seconds.  Arthas and Jaina avoided each other's gaze as they stood side-by-side, breathing hard.

         Troll reinforcements were appearing from the woods around them; a dozen of the beasts began to circle the duo.  Arthas scanned the area around them for an escape route.  There was none.

         "You were supposed to stay in the back lines," he said angrily.

         Jaina gripped his arm and the ground disappeared beneath Arthas' feet.  His body seemed to compress and distort.  He fell from the air three feet to the ground, and landed on one knee.  He blinked, his vision fuzzy.

         "Sorry," said Jaina tersely.  She quickly examined her arm; an axe had caught it just as they had teleported, disrupting the natural flow of the spell and leaving a jagged gash on her forearm.  She tucked it from view lest Arthas see it and chastise her.

         He chastised her anyway.  His eyes were hard and his lips curled into such a deep sneer that he looked remarkably like Kael.

         "I gave you an order!" he snapped.  "You were to stay in the back lines!"

         "Well, that's where we are now," she said, too furious with him to be patient with his outburst.  "You almost died there, Arthas."

         A few of the archers began to look their way.  The prince scowled at them.

         "Continue firing!" he yelled.  "This battle is far from over!"  He turned back to Jaina, his nostrils flaring.  "You've compromised my strategy," he said, his voice low.  "I was supposed to scout for the leader-"

         "Stop it, Arthas," said Jaina.  Her arm smarted, but she refused to show the prince that her actions had wounded her.  She wavered a bit.

         Arthas glared at her for a moment, his eyes so angry that she expected him to hit her.  Then he turned his back.

         "Stay here," he growled, "or I will report you for insubordinance.  That is a promise."  He strode away to find his horse.

         Jaina watched until he was gone, then let out a hiss of air and removed her arm from behind her back.  The wound was deep and bleeding profusely.  A small pool of blood had formed on the grass behind her; it had splashed onto her white boots and smeared her cloak.  Jaina sighed and scanned the area around her for something to use as a bandage.

         The sound of ripping cloth made her turn her head.  Kael stood behind her; he had torn a strip of red fabric from the hem of his robes.

         "When did you get there?" asked Jaina, surprised.

         The fires of the Sunwell were still strong in Kael's blood, and the euphoria made it difficult to think.  It reminded him of the time he and Eldin and Mina had smuggled the priest's meditation oils from the Priestess' hut as teenagers: the high was comparable, though he felt less like running in elated circles and more like sitting down and enjoying the sensations.  He didn't answer her question, choosing instead to focus his limited attention on bandaging Jaina's arm.  His hand trembled as he gently gripped her elbow; his skin was so hot that Jaina looked at him with concern.

         "Are you okay, Kael?" she asked; her breath was alluringly sweet.  Kael forced a smile without meeting her gaze; he gently tied the scarlet cloth and put a hand into his pocket.  He pulled out a small green pill and held it out.

         "Put this under your tongue," he said, his voice soft, and then his eyes met hers.  There was a tension in them she had never seen before; the skin around the milky white globes was tense and twitching.  His long brows were low.  She presumed he was upset about seeing her together with Arthas.

         The pill was bitter; she grimaced, but followed Kael's instructions.  Calmness flooded her body, and she began to sway.  Kael helped her to a seat on a fallen log.  He sat beside her; there was no choice.  If he disobeyed Antonidas' orders to stay close to Jaina, he, too, faced a report of insubordination, and such a thing was not becoming of a prince.  He squinted at the battlefield.  Neither side had lost many casualties, it appeared, but the trolls were beginning to pull back.  Rage flared in his stomach as he imagined Arthas chasing after the beasts to exterminate every last one, just as he had in Quel'Thalas.  The man had no compassion for non-human creatures.

         "How much did you hear?" asked the woman softly.  Her pupils were dilated slightly with the painkiller; he wondered if he had accidentally given her too much.  He had forgotten that humans were more sensitive to drugs than elves.

         Kael hesitated.  "He was very worried about you," he admitted.  Indeed, seeing the human prince so frustrated about Jaina's foolhardy rescue had augmented the impression he had received the night Arthas had slept in Jaina's room in Dalaran.  An idea that had begun to form then was blooming in his mind.  Perhaps he would talk to the man after the battle had ended.

         Jaina watched him.  "Are you okay?" she asked.

         Kael looked away.  She had meant the statement to refer to his heartache, of course, but it was the perfect opportunity to tell her about the magic of his ancestors...

         "I'm fine," he said, and he stood to aid the archers.

         Half an hour later, the troll forces retreated entirely.  This time Arthas let them leave.  The men cheered and followed their leader back to camp.

 

 

         "What the hell was that?" she demanded.

         Kael lifted his chin and turned his head to look at the camp.  "I don't know what you mean," he said.  His eyes were still milky.

         "Kael," whispered Mina, "why were you using demon magic?"

         The elf turned his gaze to her; his brows were low.  "That magic is the magic of our ancestors, Mina."

         The sorceress sighed and dropped her forehead into her hand, massaging the tension away.  "Kael," she said, "that magic is dangerous."

 

 

         Kael moved to sit by Arthas.  The human prince looked sideways at him, then gave a soft guffaw.

         "I thought you promised to take me down in battle, mage."

         "This wasn't the opportune time," said Kael.

         "Of course; there's no way you'd touch me in front of Jaina."  Arthas sneered at the other.  "What do you want, elf?"  
         Kael met the other's gaze.  "Jaina's wounded," he said.  "Her forearm."

         Arthas' eyebrows rose so far that they nearly reached his hairline.  He began to stand; the elven prince caught his shoulder.

         "She didn't want you to make a big fuss about it."

         Arthas gritted his teeth and sat; he looked across the bonfire to where Jaina sat.  She was engaged in conversation with Syrius.

         "Is it serious?" he asked.

         "Nothing you can't cure, I'm sure," murmured Kael dryly.  Arthas raised an eyebrow and turned to face the other.

         "What do you want, elf?"

         The shorter man tilted his head at the forest.  "I need to have a word with you in private."

         Arthas squinted at the other, then nodded.  He gripped his mallet tightly in his hands and stood.

         "You're asking for your own death, you realize."

         "I don't want to fight you," said Kael with disgust.  He began to walk to the woods; Arthas hurried forward and fell into step beside the elf.

         It was strange to walk alone, side-by-side; it reminded Arthas of better times, when he and Kael had been friendlier rivals.  He tried not to think of everything that had led them to hate one another, but his mind churned through it anyway.

         Kael stopped by a fallen log and sat on it.  Arthas sat, too, a few feet away.

         Kael cleared his throat and looked down.  "It's been awhile since we had a civil discussion, Arthas."

         The human prince stared; the hair on the back of his neck began to crawl.  "I suppose it has," he murmured.

         The elf looked down.  "How is Cezetta?" he asked pointedly.

         Arthas snorted.  "I haven't talked to her in years."

         They were silent for a moment.

         "I was young," said the man defensively.

         "And Jaina?" snapped Kael.

         Arthas looked at his hands.  "I'll have you know I actually backed off at the gala because I realized she was with you," he growled.  He let out a sigh and choked back his pride to add, "If I had any idea how long the two of you-"

         "I was with Cezetta for six years," growled Kael.  "That didn't stop you."

         "I was young," said Arthas again.

         They were silent.

         "You love her," said the elf.

         "Cezetta?" replied the human.

         "Jaina."

         Arthas sigh and rubbed at the bridge of his nose.  "Why did you bring me here, elf?"

         "We are not so different, Arthas.  I have felt your pain."  Kael hooked a long strand of flaxen hair over his ear as he rummaged through his pockets for a scrap of paper.  He licked the nub on a pen and began to write.  Arthas feigned disinterest; he watched the elf with his peripheral vision.  After a moment, Kael folded the paper into quarters and turned, offering it to the other between two fingers.

         "The Lord Admiral has another daughter," he said in a hushed tone.  "Outside of marriage, so it is a well-guarded secret.  Even Jaina doesn't know of her existence."  He stared intently at the other.  "She is strikingly similar to Jaina in many ways.  Many ways, Arthas."

         "You offer me a whore?" snapped the human prince as he knocked the elf's hand away.

         "She is no whore!" barked Kael.  He closed his eyes to steady himself.  Even if she were, he would never admit it.

         "She is, however, not averse to making a few arrangements for a steep price."  The elven prince dropped his head.  "This is not one of my prouder moments," he said tersely.  "I am making this gesture because I know how much it hurts to be bereft of Jaina.  There will be times when your soul aches for her so much that you feel you will die.  Kalnaka can help."

         Arthas hesitated, then took the paper from the elf's hand.  He rubbed the folded mass slowly between his thumb and forefinger.

         "Have you visited her often?" he asked.

         "She is an old friend," whispered Kael solemnly.  "She is no whore, and I don't expect you to treat her as one."

         Arthas' jaw twitched as he slid the paper into his pocket.

         "You are to tell no one of this," said Kael forcefully.

         "Of course not," murmured Arthas.  "I expect the same in return."

         The eleven bowed his head, his stomach still spinning.  His duty done, he stood and began to walk back to the camp.

          Arthas withdrew the paper and unfolded it.  Kalnaka's name and address were written I n the elf's spidery script.  He ripped the paper into tiny shreds and dropped it into the weeds below the log.

         A smile floated to his lips.  "Kalnaka Proudmoore," he whispered.  "House twenty-two, Strahnbrad."  He couldn't forget that number even if he tried.  Jaina's age.  She could prove to be useful some day.

         He wasn't ready to give up on Jaina yet.

         Jaina was speaking with Syrius when Arthas returned to the camp.  Arthas moved to sit by her; she lifted her head to look at him.  Her eyes glowed orange in the flickering flames.

         "Might I have the honour of a walk with you, Milady?" he said courteously.  Her head dropped and shook slightly from side to side.

         "Arthas," she whispered.

         "As friends," he said pointedly.  She looked up with sad eyes and nodded.

         They padded away from the camp and along the river.  The night was still and dark; the air was crisp, and Jaina shivered a little.

         The prince looked over at her, surprised.

         "Your eyes are glowing."  He hadn't noticed before.  The irises glowed blue; she looked like an elf.

         "It's a side of effect of some of the magics I use," she said, apologetic.  He wanted to comment, but didn't.  The glow made her infinitely more beautiful. 

          Once they were out of earshot of the camp, he stopped, solemn.  He gave a small, humourless smile and sat in the grass by the riverbank.  She sat beside him.

         "Kael tells me you have a wound that needs healing," he said.

         Jaina's head dropped.  "I didn't know that you two were on speaking terms."

         He didn't reply; his hand gripped her thin wrist and untied the red bandage to expose the jagged wound.  It was deeper than he had been led to believe.

         "I told you to stay in the back lines," he said, frustrated.  She sighed.

         "Arthas..."

         "You're hurt," he muttered.  His warm hands wrapped around her forearm, so gently that the wound didn't even smart.  There was a faint yellow glow, then he pulled back; the wound was healed.  Jaina stared at it, panting slightly; she longed for that warm touch to trace her entire body.

         "You've lost a lot of weight, haven't you?' he asked sadly, noting the thinness of her wrist.  Her head bowed.

         "There isn't much time to eat," she replied.  The truth was that she didn't have much of an appetite anymore.

         They stared across the water of the wide river.

         "I miss you," she whispered.

         "I know," he replied softly.  "It will pass."

         She closed her eyes, inhaling a deep breath: beneath the musky sweat and the dirt, grime and blood was his faint perfumes and his warm, natural scent.  Arthas watched her blissful look and slid a hand over to gently take hers.  She didn't pull away.

         "I'm sorry I haven't really contacted you," he murmured.  "Though my heart breaks to see you and know you aren't mine, I still desperately want to be your friend.  I just don't know how."

         "I know," she said again, and her head nuzzled against his shoulder plate.  His chuckle was a bit strained.

         "That can't be very comfortable."

         "Not at all," she murmured, tapping her head against the plate to make a faint metallic sound.

         "If you're tired," he said solemnly, "you can lay your head in my lap."  He lifted his head to avoid her surprised gaze.  "It is the sort of thing close friends do," he murmured.

          She nodded; he unbuckled the thigh-plates from his legs, revealing the soft leather pants beneath.  Jaina lay down, resting her head against his thighs as he shifted to sit cross-legged.  He restrained himself from stroking the hair from her face.  He looked down at her, smiling fondly.

         "Better?"

         "Much," she whispered.  Her eyes slipped closed.  His lap was warm and alluring; she was safe here.

         Now his hand did drop to brush the hair from her face.  Her eyes tightened and he could see that she was holding back tears.  His hand trailed across her eyelids, smoothing them.

         "This will get easier every time, Jaina," he whispered, hoping it was true.  "Soon we will miss each others' presence as friends and nothing more."

         Her eyes opened, the tears sparkling with the light of her glowing eyes.

         "You've changed, Arthas," she murmured.  "You're so much more-"

         "Rational?" he finished.  His lips lifted into a smirk.  "Stable?"

         Jaina chuckled.  "I was going to say 'centred.'"

         He slid his hands across her lips, pleased to see her smile.  "I suppose," he murmured, "that you have shown me the happiness that can be found in calmness and dedication."  He quickly realized that he shouldn't be touching her so intimately and withdrew his hand.  He leaned back, pressing his hands into the ground behind him to support himself.

         "Well," he said, "how is the Kirin Tor?  Is it everything you dreamed of?"

         Her eyes lit up so passionately that his heart dropped.

         "Oh, Arthas, it's incredible!" she said.  "They have me teaching classes, and Antonidas and I are working on developing Teleport so that it transfers farther differences, perhaps even from city to city!"

         "So you're still set on becoming Archmage, then," he said, a bit bitter.

         Jaina sighed.

         "Arthas-"

         "No, no," he said quickly.  "I'm sorry.  I don't mean..."  He trailed off.  "And how is Antonidas?" he asked.

         The conversation flowed easily after that.  After half an hour, his legs began to grow numb; he shifted out from underneath her head and lay on his back beside her.  She stretched out beside him, too, and they stared at the stars as they conversed.

 

 

         It was nearly dawn when they decided they should return to the camp.  Kael and Mina were still awake; the elf-woman approached the duo, bowing quickly to Arthas.

         "Jaina," she said, "we are going to ride for Dalaran now so that we can be back by morning."

         "Okay, thanks."

         The sorceress left, dragging Kael with her; he looked back as he left, furious.

         Arthas smiled sadly at Jaina.

         "Thank you, Jaina."

         "You should come visit," she said with a sad smile.  "I enjoy your company, Arthas."

         "And I, yours.  Perhaps I shall."  He smiled.  "Well, then: until next time."

         "Farewell for now."  She gave him a quick, fleeting hug; as she drew away, he put a finger to her chin and laid a soft, slow kiss to her cheek.

         She stared at him, her eyebrows peaked, then quickly turned to follow her colleagues.

         Arthas watched, his heart breaking.  He turned to see Syrius behind him; the lord's arms were folded over his chest.

         "What are you looking at?" snapped Arthas, annoyed.  He sat down and grabbed a mug and a jug of warm ale.  His friend sat beside him.

         "I thought you broke up."

         "We did."  Arthas shrugged.  "I'm not allowed to be a gentleman around my friend?"

         Syrius sighed.  "Look," he said, "I'm not going to judge.  But you're kidding yourself if you think you can keep doing that kind of intimate stuff without it eventually breaking your heart."

         Arthas looked at his friend, confused.

         "You'll keep doing stuff like that, then one of you will end up convinced it means something more.  The other one will move on, leaving one of you heartbroken."

 

 

         Jaina's heart was heavy as she plodded back to her horse.  Kael didn't look at her as she mounted.

         Mina rode alongside the woman.  "Well?" she said.

         "I don't want to talk about it," muttered Jaina.  She could still feel his kiss on her skin.

         _"That bastard,"_ snapped Kael in Elvish.  _"I make genuine attempts to help him, and in return, he decides to scar the reputation of the woman I love by seducing her into the woods."_

"Calm down, sparky," said Mina.  She added in Elvish, _"He didn't touch her.  He always leaves his calling card behind."_ She motioned to her neck.

         "You know, I really wish you wouldn't speak in Elvish around me," said Jaina.  "It's incredibly rude."

         "I apologize, Jaina," said Kael; he bowed his head.  "It's only that my petty jealousies aren't fit for your ears."

         Mina started laughing.  Jaina let out a low growl and urged her horse to a canter, leaving the elves behind.

         "Nicely done, honey," said Mina.

         Kael sighed.  He reached into the pocket of his robes for his liquor flask; he always brought it to battle in case of injury.

         "Don't," threatened Mina, casting him a sharp glance. "I'm not babysitting you."  She raised an eyebrow.  "I'll turn you into a sheep if you so much as try."

         Kael let out a low growl, but put the flask away.

        

 

         "Uther," murmured Arthas, "you and Admiral Proudmoore are quite close, weren't you?"  
         The paladin smiled.  "We fought together for many years," he said fondly.

         "Did he have another daughter?" asked the prince shyly.

         Uther's eyebrows rose.  "Where did you hear about that?"  After a moment, he added, "Not through Jaina, I hope?"

         "No."  Arthas shifted in his seat, his gaze focussed on the ground.  "She will never hear of it."

         The paladin hesitated.  "You know that a bastard child cannot be wed to a prince, right, lad?"

         His disciple looked up, surprised.  "That was never my intention," he said, hiding a smirk.  "I'm just curious."

         Uther folded his legs.  "I do feel sorry for the poor child," he said softly.  "It's hard enough being an illegitimate child, but being half elven, too..."

         "Half elven?"  Arthas raised an eyebrow.  Kael hadn't mentioned that.  Hadn't he said that she looked exactly like Jaina?  "I thought she was human."

         Uther's eyes widened; he coughed.  "I think perhaps we had best end this conversation, lad.  Rumours are nasty things."

 

 


	19. Book Two - III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter had a scene that had HORRIBLE consent issues and was presented in a way I'm not comfortable with. I've censored it out, and I won't be publishing it ever. My apologies for folks who wanted to read the original untouched, but I am completely horrified by that scene now.

 

 

**III**

 

         Eldin raised an eyebrow, then pulled a tiny pouch out of his robes.  He set it on the table between them.  Bolomina stared, trying to divine its contents.  A slow smile spread across her face.

         "You didn't."

         "I did."  He emptied the contents onto the table: a small, flat, oily bar.  She stared.

         "If the Archmage finds out--"

         "He won't."  Eldin grinned.  "Besides, it's a legitimate drug: the priests use it all the time to induce trance.  Here."  He pulled out his knife and shaved a tiny slice for her.  "Put this under your tongue."

         Mina took the oily shaving onto her finger, then slipped it into her mouth.

         "It's bitter," she said, grimacing.

         "Just wait for it."  Eldin carved a sizeable piece off for himself and popped it into his mouth.  "You know," he said, "this stuff is one powerful aphrodisiac."

         Mina started laughing.  "Sure, tell me that after I've ingested it."

         "As if we weren't going to screw anyway," murmured Eldin, and he bent forward to bite her bottom lip.  She waited for him to follow it with a kiss, but he pulled away, a smirk on his face.

         "Shall I feed you some?" he asked.

         "That depends."  She smirked back.  "With your fingertip, your tongue, or something else?"

         Now his guard dropped, briefly, and he looked so like his brother that Mina pulled away a little.  Eldin recovered his bravado in instant later.

         "How about all three?" he growled, and he lunged in to bite her lip again.

         An hour later, a very high Mina's head rolled around on her shoulders.  She laughed as Eldin kissed her feet.

         "Stop it, hon," she said.  "I'm terribly ticklish."

         The prince took her large toe into his mouth, wary of the sharp toenail, and gently sucked; Mina's protests turned into a hum of pleasure.

         "Seriously," she purred.  "Stop.  I can't take so many bouts so close together."

         "Bouts."  He slid up the bed, tracing his claws along her naked body.  Electricity seemed to spark at the point of contact.  "You speak as if I'm a disease."

         "But you are."  She gripped his chin and kissed him, then pulled away and smiled.  Eldin reached across to the bedside table and picked out two more slices of the oily cake.

         "I'm coming down already," he muttered.

         Mina curled up beside him and scraped her claws down the centre of his chest.  "Something on your mind, darling?"

         Eldin turned his head and shot her a raised eyebrow.  "Is Kael okay lately?  He seems kind of...strange."

         "Oh, he's always strange."  She suddenly remembered the time the elder prince had attacked her for teasing him; a frown slid across her lips.  "Yeah, he's changed.  Ever since he got back from Quel'Thalas."  She rolled onto her back and stretched her limbs; the drug's delicate high was fading for her, too.  "He's getting into dark magic, I think.  I'm worried about him."

         Eldin sat up abruptly.  "What?"

         "Oh, he was looking at some book.  It had a picture of Dath'Remar in it.  He was acting weird about it, then he locked it up and told me not to let him have the key."

         "You have the key?" said Eldin; there was an edge to his voice that she missed in her drugged state.

         "Mm-hmm."  She grinned and tapped his nose.  "But you can't have it.  It's in a very...special...hiding place."  Her hand slid down his abdomen and curled around him.

         Eldin pushed her arm aside.  "Where is it?" he demanded.

         Now Mina sat up, too.  "Okay, what's going on, sugar?" she asked, and she began to wish her head was clear so she could figure out why he was upset.

         He gripped her shoulders so tightly that his nails dug into her skin; she winced.  "Take me to it," he whispered.

         "Eldin," she said.

         His hand tightened.  "Now," he growled.

         "Okay," she said softly.  Her eyes began to water, but she turned her head and began to pull on her clothes.

 

 

 

 

         A knock sounded at Kael's door.  He slammed the book shut and slid it into the top drawer of his desk, then strode to the door.

         "Jaina," he said, surprised to see her. "Come in."

         "Thanks."  The woman stepped into the room; he led her to the table and pulled out a chair for her.  She wore her cloak, the hood pulled up to partially obscure her face; he wished she'd lower it.

         "He really looks a lot like you," said the woman, conversational.

         "He is nothing like me," replied Kael; his tone only showed a slight bit of annoyance.  He took the kettle off the hotplate and poured two glasses of tea.  "Is he with Mina right now?" he added, a bit of disgust showing through his words.

         "Yes."  Jaina smiled and bowed her chin.  "They weren't too subtle about their intentions."  She had left her room in anticipation of hearing loud thumping noises.

         "Marvellous," muttered Kael.  He set the teacups between them, then turned to fetch the sugar and cream.

         "Why do you dislike the idea of them together so much?" asked the woman.

         "Because she's going to tell me every intimate detail until I want to slap her."  Kael shook his head.  "That woman is evil."

         "But you two seem so close," said Jaina, surprised.  He slid into the seat across from her and passed her the sugar and cream.  She passed up the sugar -- elven tea was sweet enough without it -- but poured plenty of cream in.

         "Mina is both my dearest friend and mortal enemy," replied Kael with a hint of humour.  He stirred in a large spoon of sugar.

         Jaina blushed.  "I thought maybe...there was more to that.  That maybe you were jealous."

         Kael's eyes widened, briefly, then he raised the tea to his lips and drained it.  She watched intently, and he realized that she had meant the statement as a question.

         "Of course not," he muttered.  "I'm as attracted to her as you are, and I can guarantee she feels the same way about me."  He looked into the bottom of his teacup.  "I will only love one woman as long as I live."

         He expected her to change the topic, as usual, but instead she watched him.  He couldn't read her expression under that blasted hood.

         The forbidden magic still boiled in his blood, and he felt himself powered with the strength of Dath'Remar.  He set his jaw and stood.

         She didn't pull away as he smoothed back her hood.  He knelt before her and cupped his hand to her cheek.  His palm was warm and soft.

         "You, Jaina," he whispered, "are my dearest friend and the other half of my soul.  I am so madly in love with you.  Sometimes I wonder if you might still feel the same way."

         The woman's eyes filled with tears.  "Kael, I will only love one man as long as I live," she whispered, "and he isn't you."

         Kael's hand trembled, then he withdrew it and stood.  He began to smooth his robes, reminding her of a cat bathing itself to cover insulted pride.

         "Yes, well, then I'm glad that's out of the way."  He felt the urge to vomit.  Jaina looked at the floor.

         "Kael, you have to move on."

         He stared at her for a moment, then looked away.  "Do you know how many times I've tried?" he whispered.  "Do you know how many times I thought I loved a woman, only to discover that the only qualities I loved about her were the qualities I actually loved about you that I saw reflected in her?"

         "You barely know me," she insisted.  His eyes were hurt as he snapped them to her.

         "Did those five year's worth of letters mean nothing to you, Jaina?  I exposed myself to you -- my insecurities, my innermost thoughts, my soul -- in a way that no one else has seen!"  His jaw trembled and he looked down, shaking his head.  "I suppose I was a fool to think you had done the same."

         Jaina stood.  "I should leave," she whispered.

         "Just this once," said Kael, and he stood, too.  "Jaina, I need to taste your lips just this once.  If you do not feel moved by my kiss, then I will continue about my life as best I can, and never mention this again.  But if you should enjoy it, I beg you to reconsider our future."  He wasn't sure where the words were coming from, but it was too late to take them back now.  He stared at her, his eyes wide; she stared back, her eyes flickering.

         "Kael," she whispered, with very little protest.

         The elven prince stepped forward and gripped her chin; her eyes dropped.  His thumb ran across her plump lower lip; he watched it, wetting his own, then raised his eyes to meet hers.  Her eyebrows were pinched in what he assumed was a look of longing; his heart raced.  As he began to move in to her lips, however, he realized that the fine twitch he had always loved lay flat.  His heart fell; he dropped his hand and turned away.

         "Never mind," he murmured.  "Everything is clear now."

         Jaina put a trembling hand to his shoulder.  "Kael..." she said softly.

         When he turned once more to face her, she gripped his jaw with her hands and drew him down for a kiss.

         He meant to keep the kiss chaste, but her mouth was open; her lips were so sweet that he tilted his head to probe deeper.  Her tongue met his, and she whimpered, a soft, fleeting noise.  A shiver ran through his body.  He gripped her hips to pull her body tightly against his.  Her hands clawed into his back; her full breasts pressed against his chest.

         Kael's hands curled around her shoulders and he gently pushed her away to look at her.  Jaina's eyes were wide as she looked up at him.  Her lips pulsed -- just one twitch, that was it -- and his knees grew weak.  That one pulse was a start, and that was good enough for him.

         The prince sat down on the chair and pulled her onto his lap.  His hand cupped her cheek gently; he was afraid that if he moved suddenly, he would startle her and she would change her mind.  His lips brushed hers.

         The door slammed open.       

          Kael and Jaina jerked their heads to see Eldin and Mina in the doorway.  Eldin's fists were clenched and his eyes glowed white; a thick book was tucked under his arm.  Mina stared at the guilty couple for a moment, then slumped against the doorframe and began to cackle.

         Jaina stood so quickly that she stumbled and nearly fell.  Kael gripped her arm to steady her; she jerked away.  She stared at him for a moment, her mouth open and her eyes wide, then she pushed past Mina and Eldin and fled from the room.

         Kael's brows lowered.  He strode across the room to stand before his brother.

         "What the hell do you want?" he growled in Elvish.

         Eldin held out the book; his face was twisted.  "You promised me you'd tell me when you opened the book, brother."

         Kael's eyes widened.  "Give me that," he growled.

         "Not until you show me what you've learned from it!" snarled Eldin.  "Show me how you opened it!"

         Mina had fallen to the floor; now she was gyrating in odd ways against it, still cackling.  Kael looked down, alarmed.

         "Is she okay?"

         "She's fine!" snarled Eldin.  He lunged forward to grip his brother's throat, then turned to force him against the wall.  Kael's arms thrashed wildly as he tried to attack his assailant; he was panicking too much to summon any magic.  Eldin's claws dug into his brother's neck.

         "Tell me," he hissed.

         Now Mina sat up; her eyes were wide.  "Eldin," she asked, "what are you doing?"

         Kael's face began to turn purple as he gasped in vain for air.

         "Eldin!" snapped Mina.  "Put him down!"

         "Not until he tells me everything he's been hiding!" barked the younger prince.

         Kael sank his claws into his brother's forearm and tore.  Eldin cried out and staggered back, dropping the older prince; Kael fell to his hands and knees and gasped for air.

         "That," he panted, "is how you unlock the secrets, you violent oaf."  He lifted his head and glared at his brother with pupil-less eyes.  "The magic is evil, Eldin.  It consumes your soul.  I used it once, and I can never be the same.  Don't fall in the same trap."

         The younger prince didn't listen; he stared at the blood beading around jagged scratches on his forearm.  A grin spread across his sneered lips.

         "I see," he said, and he whirled and was gone, the book tucked firmly under his arm.

 

          

 

 

 

 

         It was harder this time to let go than every other time.

         "Jaina," he said gently, pushing her away.

          "Sorry."  She blushed.  "It's been a hell of a week.  I'm glad to see you."

         "The feeling is mutual."  He grinned.  "I'm staying overnight for a change, so we can stay out late and party with the Dalaranians."

         She laughed.  "Everyone here goes to bed by nightfall," she said dryly.  "I am among the few that dares stay up until midnight."

         "Well then, we'll just have to figure something out once the nightlife dies."  His tone was innocent, but she wondered if there was flirtation behind his words.  He cocked his head.  "May I take you for dinner?"

         "You paying?" she teased.

         "Of course."

         "Then yes, you may," she replied, looping her arm through his.

         They chatted happily as they strolled to the restaurant.  Arthas ordered a bottle of the finest wine; she raised her eyebrows.

         "I thought you were a beer man," she teased.

         "Uther's been working hard to teach me to be sophisticated," laughed the prince.  "Apparently I come on too strong on diplomatic missions-"

         "Go figure," said Jaina as the chef brought Arthas a bottle.  Arthas grabbed the bottle and uncorked it violently with the corkscrew, then poured her a glass.  A piece of the cork fell in; he cursed under his breath and fished it out with his finger.  She started laughing.

         "-so he's training me to impress everyone with my sophistication," he finished.  He topped up the goblet -- despite her protests that it was too much already -- and handed it to her.  "As you can see, my wine serving skills need work."

         "I'm sure it tastes fine, so long as your hands are clean," she chuckled, wondering how she was going to finish it all and stay sober.  He filled his goblet and held it out.

         "To our friendship," he said.

         "Indeed," she replied as the glasses clanked.

         "An excellent year," he said after considering the flavour, and she started laughing again.

         "So how is Lord Uther?" she asked brightly, taking another sip.  Arthas smirked and let out an amused breath of air.

         "He keeps trying to set me up with the daughter of one of the senior paladins."

         "What?" asked Jaina, and she tried to chuckle, but the laugh caught in her throat.

         "Yeah.  Apparently 'moping around' over you isn't conducive to study, so he's trying to distract me-"  He stopped abruptly.  "I shouldn't be telling you this, should I?" he contemplated.

         She looked into the bottom of her wine glass, then took a hasty gulp of the pale liquid.

         "Well, was she good-looking, at least?" she asked quickly, hoping she sounded like a supportive friend.

         "I wouldn't know," said Arthas; his face was suddenly serious.  "I broke the date to come here instead."

         "Ah."  She quickly drained the rest of her goblet; he did the same, and poured them each another generous serving.

         "I shouldn't have told you that, either," he muttered as he handed the goblet back to her.  "I'm sorry.  I'm not sure how to do this."

         "No, no, it's okay," she assured him.  "I don't mind.  I mean...it's okay."  She closed her eyes.  "Let's talk about something else," she said quietly.

         No topics came up; they finished their wine, and Arthas ordered another bottle. 

 

 

 

 

         They shared small-talk as they ate their food, but it wasn't until the wine began to kick in that they returned to their happy chatter from earlier.

          "I've never seen you intoxicated," he said, amused, as they stood to leave.

         "I'm not," she slurred.  "It's not becoming on a...on a woman."  Her cheeks were flushed; her eyes glowed brightly in contrast.

         "Well, then, I suppose you could take some more wine?" he asked cheerfully.  He bought an extra bottle before they left the restaurant.

         "You're trying...to get me drunk," she accused.

         "I'm too drunk to try to get you drunk," he countered.  His hand rested heavily on her shoulder.

          "I always thought you had a high tolerance," she said, surprised.

          "Are you kidding?"  He laughed.  "Why do you think I'm always in trouble with Uther?  A drop or two and I hit the floor."

         "But you look-"

         "-like I should be able to handle the drink.  I know.  It's embarrassing."

          She smiled and looped her arm through his.

         "We need somewhere to drink that," she said, pointing to the bottle.

         "Well, there's always my room at the inn," he said.

         "Prince Arthas!" she said, shocked.  "Are you trying to get a drunk woman into your bedroom?"

         "Well," he said, "you probably won't be able to walk up the stairs to your room, and it's cold outside.  That doesn't leave many options for places to go."

         "Good point," she said.

         They walked to the inn; he held the door open for her, then latched it behind him.  It was cold in the room, so he lit the fireplace with flint and steel (Jaina decided it was best not to attempt magic in her state).  She sat on the divan.  He quickly fetched a corkscrew and two glasses from the innkeeper.

         They sat side-by-side on the divan.  Jaina closed her eyes, revelling in the high she was getting from the wine.  She had only been intoxicated once or twice before, and neither experience had been as pleasant at this.  All her senses were heightened; she could hear Arthas' harsh breaths and smell the warm, musky scent of his skin from here.  The divan beneath her was soft against her legs and backside, and she squirmed slightly into it; her head rested against the back of the divan.  Her arms gathered her knees to her chest.

         "You look quite comfortable," he observed.

         Her eyelids parted and she turned to look at him.

         "I drank too much," she said mournfully.  He laughed and lifted his hand; a finger grazed against the skin of her jaw, and she shivered as her heightened senses reverberated the movement throughout her body.

         "Don't worry.  You're cute when you're drunk," he said, delicately rubbing the soft flesh.  He had never used the word 'cute' to describe her before, and it surprised both of them.  Her smile suddenly collapsed and she stared into the distance, her eyebrows meeting in a peak.

         Arthas ran his hand to her shoulder.

         "I've missed you, Jaina," he said, suddenly somber.

         "Arthas-" she started, but he interrupted.

         "I am miserable without you," he said.  His hand ran down her arm to her knee, then down to her ankle.  A bit of flesh was exposed between the hem of her pants and her socks.  He ran his hand across the band, and she visibly shuddered.

 

[This part has been cut out because it was handled very, very poorly. All you need to know: drunken rough sex.]

 

 

         Jaina awoke shortly after dawn.  Her head throbbed.  Her lip throbbed.  Her skin throbbed sharply in many places.  Her body throbbed, in areas that had never throbbed before.  She groaned and sat up.

         Arthas shifted and awoke a moment later to see her clutching at her temples.  Her eyes were wide and her mouth hung open.

         "Jaina?" he asked, concerned.

         She couldn't look at him; her cheeks were bright red, and her lips quivered.

         "Oh, Arthas," she whispered.  "I am so, so sorry!"

         "Don't be," he said, running a hand across her shoulder.  "That was...fantastic."  He grinned, a bit dazed.  "If anything, I should be the one apologizing."

         Jaina looked up at him, mortified.

         "I am so embarrassed," she whispered.  "I can't believe that I...oh, Arthas, I'm so sorry..."

         His eyes narrowed as he realized that she wasn't apologizing for the rough sex, but for the fact that there had been any sex at all.  His hand dropped from her shoulder.

         Jaina's shoulders began to shake; one hand rose to push her hair back from her forehead.

         "Why did we do that, Arthas?" she sobbed.  "Everything was going so well, and we had to go and ruin things."

         "Ruin things?" he echoed.  "You think...  Jaina, I've never been so in awe of you in my life!"

          She brought her hands to her eyes and began to weep freely.

         Arthas sighed and stood, then strode across the room to pull his clothes on.  The raw skin on his front throbbed against the thick material of the shirt.  Had the circumstances been any different, the sting would have been pleasurable, but now it humiliated him.

         "Are you done?" he asked, annoyed.  "Because I get your point already."

         She removed her hands to stare at him.  "You bastard," she snapped.  "You have no right to talk to me like that."

         "I'm sick of this, Jaina!" he yelled.  "I'm sick of you using me, toying with me!"

         "Using you?" she whispered.  "You're the one who used me!"

         His eyes flew open.

         "Jaina," he growled, "I stopped, but you asked me to continue!  Begged me to!"

         "I was drunk!" she cried. 

         He threw his arms in the air, then dropped to sit on the stained divan.  She buried her face in her hands and sobbed.  Arthas gritted his teeth and glared at the floor.

         "I should have seen this coming," he muttered.  He let out a low sigh and raked his hands into his hair.  "I'm tired, Jaina," he said.  "I'm tired of you sending me mixed messages.  I'm tired of you pretending you don't love me, then stroking my arm or kissing my palm or rubbing my neck.  Why do you pretend not to love me, and then..."  He sighed.

         She wiped her eyes.  "Sex and love are two different things, Arthas," she sniffled.

         "Not with us, they aren't," he snapped.  When she didn't reply, he stared.

         "Jaina, I don't understand!" he yelled.  "Why can't you just admit that you still love me?"  He emphasized the last four words through clenched teeth.

         She sighed and sniffled, then lifted her head to gaze him squarely in the eye.

         "Because I don't know that I still do," she whispered.

         Arthas' eyes widened.  There was a single, agonizing moment of shock, then his face fell.  Tears gathered in his eyes; he quickly dropped his head and leaned forward, clasping his hands behind his neck.

          They were silent for a minute.  She thought she heard a sniffle, but his hair masked his face so well that she couldn't tell if it had been real or her imagination.  Her heart broke for him.

          "Arthas..." she whispered.  "I'm sorry."

         He didn't lift his head.  "I am going to kill that stupid little elf," he snarled.

         "What?"  She almost laughed.  "You think...?"  When he didn't reply, she murmured,  "I never loved him, Arthas, not the way I..."  She trailed off.  "He can never be more than a friend to me."  Her voice dropped.  "Nor can you."

         The prince lifted his head; his eyes were red and his lashes stuck together in clumps. 

          "You're just saying all this in the hopes that I'll fall out of love with you," he accused.  "Then you can live miserably ever after bearing your love like a cross as you watch me and my queen and my six children rule happily over the land.  You think you're a bloody martyr!"

         Jaina gritted her teeth.

         "You do love me," he said confidently.  "You said last night that you needed me.  You said you dreamed of me every night!"

         "Needing someone and loving someone aren't the same thing!" she cried, angry.

         "That's why you're so sad!" he accused.  "You love me more than you did when we separated!"

         Jaina rubbed her forehead with her fingertips.  "Believe what you want," she muttered.  "Have a safe trip back to the Capital City, Prince Arthas.  Goodbye."  She marched across the room and hastily pulled on her clothes, then strode to the door.  She was almost through it when Arthas muttered,

         "If I had any idea you'd turn out to be such a manipulative bitch, I would never have pursued you."

         Her eyes slammed shut and she cringed; her jaw trembled.  She turned back to look at him, her eyes flashing.  He met her gaze, stubbornly refusing to show any regret that the words had left his mouth.

         "For what it's worth," she snapped, "I wish you'd never pursued me, either."

         The door slammed behind her.

         Arthas swore.  He kicked hard at the divan; the shoddy furniture splintered and fell into a heap.  He stared at it for a moment, then fell to his knees and gathered his face in his hands.

 

 

 

 

         Jaina returned almost an hour later.  He didn't move to let her in, so she opened the door.  He sat on the bed, facing the wall.  She let herself in and stared at the destroyed divan.

         "I'm a prince," he muttered tonelessly.  "They won't care.  I'll pay them to get a new one."

         She moved to sit beside him.  He looked away.

         "I brought some salve," she said, her voice hoarse.  "For your wounds."

         "Go away," he muttered.

         "Please let me do this, Arthas," she whispered.

         Arthas avoided her gaze as she peeled the shirt from his body and turned his shoulders.  The salve stung a bit, and he sucked in a quick breath of air; she blew gently against his skin to activate the menthol, and the wounds immediately cooled.  Tiny drops of blood had matted in his chest hair, and she carefully picked them away.

         "I've been crying since I left," she said softly.  "I have no tears left."

         "Neither do I," he whispered.  Their eyes locked, and she saw that his were bloodshot.  Her palm rose to wipe the hair from his face.

          His eyes dropped.

         "I can heal you," he said softly.  She slid the shirt over her shoulders; he cupped his palm to the bite marks on her breasts, the ones that had drawn blood during the course of the night.  Warmth slid through her upper body as he healed them, one at a time.  A tear ran down his cheek as he watched his hands tenderly cup her beautiful breasts: this was the last time he would ever touch them.  He lingered a bit after the last bite had been healed.  She didn't move; he finally pulled away.  She slid her shirt back on.

         "Thank you," she whispered.

         He looked at his hands.  "It was nothing."

         "I mean, thank you, for everything, last night," she murmured softly.  He cast her a sidelong glance, his eyes sad.

         "You love me still," he whispered.

         "Of course I do."  Her eyes rose to meet his for a second, then she looked down again.

         He reached across and took her hand.  Their hands fit so well together; her fingers easily laced through the cracks between his.  Her thumb ran across his knuckle.

         "I thought this would get easier," she whispered.

         "I know."  He put a hand to her shoulder and drew her in for a hug.  She sighed and buried her face in his throat.

         "Why did we do that, Arthas?" she whispered.  Now they were back at square one.  Worse than square one, for now they knew it was possible to give in to their lust.

         "Because it is the sort of thing that desperate lovers do," he said a bit wryly.  She chuckled sadly.  When he pulled away, there were tears on her cheeks.  She sniffled.  Arthas slid his hands around either side of her face, tenderly running his thumbs across the tears.

         "Maybe I should stop visiting," he whispered.  "It isn't fair to either of us to-"

         "No," she pleaded.  "You are my best friend, Arthas.  I would die without your visits."

         "And yet," he said, but he couldn't finish.

         "And yet, it isn't making things any easier," she murmured.  Her chin dropped.  "Maybe for a little while."

         His hand slid around to the back of her neck and he gently placed a kiss on her forehead.  He lingered there, intoxicated by the scent of her skin.

         "One last time," he whispered before he could stop himself.

          She pulled away and watched him, tears in her eyes.  He could tell she wanted to say yes, so he pursued the idea.

         "Gentle and slow," he said.  "To balance out last night."

         She bowed her head and a tear ran down her chin.

         "One last time," she whispered, and she gripped her shirt and pulled it over her head.

 

 

 

 

         Jaina fled from the inn, tears streaming down her face.  Arthas watched her depart, her kiss still warm on his cheek.  She didn't look back.

         She barged through the gates to the Violet Citadel and fled down the hallway.  She was almost at the staircase when she heard Kael's voice behind her:

         "I thought you had stopped seeing that bastard prince."

         The blonde halted and turned.  "Kael," she muttered, "this isn't a good time."

         The elven prince's heart dropped as he saw her tear-stained cheeks.  "Jaina," he whispered.  "I'm sorry.  I didn't know."  He reached out a hand to rub her arm; she lunged forward and pressed her cheek to his shoulder.  He stared down at her, worried, then brought his arms to settle around her.

         "Did he hurt you?" he hissed, pressed his cheek to her hair.

         She started laughing, and he thought perhaps she was starting to go a bit mad.  Eventually her laughter faded.

         "We love each other so much, Kael," she sobbed.  "It isn't fair."

         The elven prince let out a noiseless sigh and held her at arm's length.  "Let's go discuss this somewhere else, Jaina."  People were beginning to stare, and he was sure that the blonde, being a private person, would not be fond of that.

         He led her slowly up the stairs, then pressed her to a seat by the table in his room.  The kettle was boiling, as always; he stirred a blend of herbs for her and handed her the teacup.

         "There," he whispered.  "This will calm you a bit."

         The blend was indeed soothing; she drank it gratefully.  The hot liquid burnt the spot on her tongue where one of Arthas' rough kisses had broken the skin.  She began to weep again, but softer this time.

         "Jaina," said Kael softly.  He sat across from her with his own teacup and watched her with concern.  "There are lots of forms of relationships.  Not every relationship has to be monogamous and lead to marriage."

         She sniffled a little and took another sip of tea.

         "Have you and Arthas considered that he could marry for children only, but keep you as his lover?"  The elven prince forced the words out.  The last thing he wanted was for the couple to remain together, but the first thing he wanted was Jaina's happiness...

         "He does not want to marry anyone but me," she said softly.

         "But what if he did?" said Kael.  "Would you consider being his mistress?"  He shifted in his seat.  "My father had a mistress," he said.  "He was kind and respectful to my mother, but it was understood that their marriage was for posterity only.  His mistress was his true love, and they were celebrated throughout Quel'Thalas.  There are many women who will happily marry for the status rather than for love."  This was the first time he had ever mentioned his family, in all the years they had known one another."But you're elven," said Jaina respectfully.  "Men are not so tolerant of such things."

         "Of course they are."  Kael raised an eyebrow.  "The people of Lordaeron love you, Jaina.  You are a princess in their eyes.  In fact..."  He sighed.  "In fact, I imagine that they love you so much that they would be happy to have you as their queen, even if you could never bear children.  Arthas has a half-sister, does he not?  Her line could take the throne after Arthas passes."

         The blonde dropped her head and smiled.  "Thank you, Kael," she whispered.  "I appreciate that this is difficult for you to say."  She sighed.  "But it would be easier if I could just forget him, and him, me, so perhaps we will stay with that for now."

         "Stubborn until the last."  Kael smiled kindly.  "Very well.  I, of course, have no objections to that, so long as you are happy soon."

         "I will be," she whispered.  "I just need time."  She closed her eyes, and the sensation of Arthas biting into her flesh, drawing blood, flitted across her skin. 

          After a moment, he said softly, "I was looking for you all morning, Jaina, until Mina told me where you had gone.  I have something to show you.  Perhaps it will cheer you."

         She shot him a questioning look; he stood and closed the door, then walked back to her and put a hand on her shoulder.

         "Only a mage as powerful as you and I could appreciate the value of this find," he whispered, leaning close to her ear.

         "Why are you whispering?" she asked; he hushed her, then hastened to close the curtains tightly.  The room was sent into darkness.

         "Kael?" she whispered.  She set the teacup on the table.

         The chanting began then.  It was quiet and deep; she didn't recognize the language, but it was harsh and guttural.  His voice began to rise and a pair of glowing orange eyes appeared suddenly before her; they illuminated his face faintly in the darkness.  A glowing orange circle appeared on the floor beneath his feet, and a pentagram formed within it, one strand at a time.  Wind howled, flipping his cloak around him; Jaina wrapped her arms around herself and stood.

         Then there was a flash so brilliant that Jaina stumbled backwards.  A shriek sounded, loud enough that her hands clasped over her ears.  When her eyes at last adjusted to the brightness, she saw a fiery orange bird hovering in the high ceiling.

         "A phoenix?" she whispered, awestruck by its beauty.  A single burning plume fell before her face, sizzling out on the floor before her feet.

         Kael's eyes still glowed orange as he turned them to her awestruck face.  His hand rested lightly on her shoulder as he watched her gaze at the magnificent bird.

         "How did you do that, Kael?" she whispered, mesmerized.

         "I chanced upon some ancient scrolls in storage," replied the elf quietly; he didn't feel like explaining his heritage to her.  His fingers waved and the creature disappeared, plunging them once again into darkness.  Jaina blinked, horrified as she suddenly realized what had just happened.

         "Where in storage?" she hissed, suspicious.  He opened the curtains and squinted against the light.

         "It doesn't matter," he replied eagerly.  "There are other spells, Jaina, the likes of which have never been seen by the Kirin Tor-"

         "Fire spells are demon magic!" said Jaina.  "You told me that yourself!  Maybe there's a reason-"

         "I thought you would see the beauty of this, Jaina!" he interrupted, and he turned his glowing orange gaze to her.

         "Kael," she murmured, "your eyes are still orange."

         He blinked, and his eyes faded to white, then back to their normal blue luster.  His eyes narrowed a bit, as if he were remembering where he was.

         "Jaina," he said somberly, "you will not mention this to anyone."  His normal gentleness was edged with a hint of a threat.

         "You're frightening me, Kael," she murmured.

         "And you're frightening me," he countered.  "Promise me!"

         "Of course I won't," she muttered.  "But please, be careful.  I don't want you to get hurt."

         "Your concern is flattering, Jaina, but unnecessary."  He smiled, his face softening.  "Shall we continue our tea?"

         She stared.  "Kael..." she whispered.  "I..."  She trailed off.  He stared pleasantly at her, the same Kael she had always known.

         "Okay," she said, confused.

 

 

 

 

 

 

         "Kael said you might come, Milord.  Please; come in."

         Arthas stepped into the cottage.  Kalnaka took his robe.  He watched her, amazed.  She was almost identical in height and build to Jaina; when she lifted her face to smile, he stared.  Her face was Jaina's, though the nose was slightly snubbed and her eyes were brown instead of blue.  She took his hand and led him to the table, pulling out a chair for him.  She brought a cup of tea for each, then slid into the chair opposite him and took a sip.  She set the cup in its saucer and leaned back, folding her hands on the table.

         "You can do more than just stare, you know," she said with a grin.  Arthas cleared his throat.  Even her voice was so like Jaina's...

         "What are your rates?" he asked, wondering why he was so nervous; he had bought sex before.

         "One thousand gold for oral, fifteen hundred for sex, two thousand for anal."  She took another sip of her tea, far too composed and sophisticated for the filthy deeds she had just mentioned.

         Arthas raised an eyebrow.  "You are expensive."

         She raised an eyebrow to mirror his and shot him a smirk that reminded him so much of Jaina that his hands began to tremble.  The woman stood and trailed her hand along the table as she strutted towards him.  Her hands pushed his shoulder back against the chair and she straddled his lap, then bent forward to whisper in his ear.

         "Since you are a friend of Kael's, I'll knock the prices in half just...for...you."  As she spoke, her hand curled into his wiry hair.  Arthas' breath caught in his throat, but he kept his poise and slid his hand under the back of her shirt to caress the bare skin of her lower back.

         "You didn't give me a complete list of prices," he chided softly.  His breath was warm against her ear, and she shuddered.

         "Name your game," she purred, a bit taken aback.  "I'll gladly give you an estimate." 

          "What if I want to hold you through the night?" he whispered, and he pressed his lips to her ear.

         "I...suppose there'd be no charge," she murmured, nervous.  She'd only had a handful of clients since starting her business, and none of them had dared to kiss her without her permission.

         "What if I want to go down on you?" he added, and she could feel that he was hardening beneath her.

         "I...I don't..."  Her eyes slid closed and the muscle above her lip began to quiver.

         The prince kissed down her neck as he drank in the scent of Jaina's skin.  Kalnaka groaned and tilted her head away; her hands rose to undo the buttons of her shirt.

         Two thousand gold later, Arthas lay on the bed, his hands folded over his bare chest.  Kalnaka finished filling the pipe, then slid under the covers to nestle against him.  He accepted the pipe, even though he rarely smoked.  The tobacco was mild and sweet.  The woman ran a hand across his jaw and gently kissed his cheek.  He raised an eyebrow and handed her the pipe.

         "You really aren't a whore," he murmured.  No whore he knew would kiss her client so tenderly.

         "No," she said.  "I only accept clients if I like them."  She blew three smoke rings into the air, then added, "This is only a temporary business."

         The prince sighed and stared at the ceiling.  Kalnaka ran her thumb across his broad chin.

         "Don't feel bad," she murmured.  "You separated from Jaina several months ago, right?"

         "Officially, yes," he said softly.  "But..."  He trailed off.

         "Ah," said Kalnaka, understanding.  "I see."  She snuffed out the pipe and rolled onto her stomach.  Her delicate hand ran across his chest to find the thick scratches at its centre.  "I'm guessing these scars didn't come from battle."

         Arthas bowed his head and began to relay the events that had taken place between him and Jaina.  He wasn't sure why he was telling Kalnaka, but she listened with obvious interest.

         "That's so sad," she whispered when he finished.  "But so beautiful that you two share something so intense."

         "Beautiful?"  Arthas' eyes narrowed, and he found himself blinking away tears.  "We are in love, but we're forced apart!  There's nothing beautiful in that!"  He gritted his teeth.  "And then that--"  He stopped himself.  "And then Kael has to try to seduce her away..."  He trailed off; his jaw muscles twitched.

         Kalnaka ran a hand through the man's hair.  "The way I understand it," she murmured, "is that Jaina chose you over Kael."

         "And then she went back to him," growled Arthas.

         "No, I mean that she chose you over Kael overall.  She only kissed him, right?  Then she confessed to you in tears and then slept with you."  The woman smiled sadly.  "I would never admit this to Kael, but there is no chance in hell that Jaina will ever love him back.  She's too in love with you."  She sighed and rolled onto her back.  "Kael is very charismatic, Arthas.  He is sensual and charming, in a way that draws a woman to him whether she's in love with him or not.  I have no doubt that what happened to Jaina was that she was mesmerized by all of that and she forgot for a split second who she was really in love with."  An eyebrow arched.  "If anything, I'd be proud that the thought of you was enough to make her stop before things went too far, even with a very real prospective lovemaking partner in her arms."

         Arthas was silent.  Kalnaka rolled onto her side and ran a fingernail across his furrowed brow as he mulled over her words.

         "Are you saying he's a better lover than I am?" asked the prince sullenly.  The brunette laughed.

         "There's no objective way to measure lovemaking, so don't even try to get yourself ranked," she scolded.  She tapped the tip of his nose with the pad of her finger in a way that reminded him of her sister.  "By the way, isn't it a bit hypocritical for you to be worried about a kiss when you've just slept with me?"

         "Sex and kisses are two different things," he protested. 

          "You kissed me," she observed.  "And quite passionately, too, I might add."

         Arthas was about to say that it didn't count because he had been pretending that she was Jaina, but he thought that might be too blunt.

         "I can't imagine you've avoided all contact with all women, if your reputation has even an ounce of truth," persisted Kalnaka.  Arthas thought of the four women who had advanced on him the night that Syrius had slept with the pub waitress.

         "None of them were my ex-lovers," he said pointedly.  "It's a different thing entirely."

         Kalnaka smirked.  "So then you don't feel guilty about sleeping with me?"

         "No," he said, surprised to discover that it was true.

         "Good," said the brunette.  "Because I want to again."  Her hand darted under the covers.  Arthas gasped.

         "You're forward," he said.

         "I'm a whore," she replied, and she began to lick down his chest.

         "I only brought two-thousand gold with me," he said solemnly.

         "Free of charge," she murmured, and he gasped at the warmth of her mouth.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that's all that was ever published. However, I have handfuls of unpublished scenes that I'm going to post as the next two chapters, as a thanks for waiting for so long for me to post this again.


	20. BONUS FEATURES: Book II Future Scenes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These scenes are all chronological, and interweave with the plot of Warcraft III & The Frozen Throne.
> 
> I've tried to separate each scene with "FUTURE SCENE" so you know there's a time skip between those scenes. Hope this isn't too confusing.
> 
> I've lost some of this in hard drive crashes (there was a long bit on Thrall's perspective of the war, and a growing friendship between Thrall & Jaina, and I'm choked I lost all that). But here's what I still have.
> 
> This stuff was never published, so I hope it's fun to glimpse at where the story was going! :)

 

**_____________________________**

**FUTURE SCENE**

 

         Kael stared.  The bathtub was sunken into the floor and surrounded by palms; the water glowed a bright blue.  Three naked priestesses stood in the waters.  He recognized one as Jaina's friend Loti, but he didn't know the other two by name.  It was a struggle not to stare at their naked breasts; he really had been living with the conservative humans for far too long.

         The priests disrobed him.  Kael stepped into the bath; the water was hot and slick.  He lay on his back, floating, as he was instructed to.  The three priestesses began to rub every inch of his body with scented oils.

         Kael closed his eyes, mortified as the sensation of liquid hands on damp skin reminded him of Kalnaka and his body began to respond.  There was no way to hide his throbbing erection, and when one of the priestess' hands rubbed oil into it, a groan slid from his lips before he could stop it.  When they at last allowed him to stand, he kept his head bowed and he blinked back tears of shame.

         Loti must have noticed his embarrassment; she leaned in close to whisper in his ear, "It's okay, Milord.  That happens to all the men; it's expected."

         The Reda'nas artist was waiting by a long slab covered in a white cotton sheet.  The priestesses led Kael to a small straw mat beside the slab and rubbed him down with thick towels.  His skin was glowing and red when they drew away.

         The artist wore a mask, so Kael couldn't be sure who it was, but the man's smile was kind enough.  A small stand beside him held several different sizes of knives and a small pot of the dreaded fireberry oil.  To the left were the pieces of paper Kael had forwarded to him with the designs he wanted.  They followed Dath'Remar's tattoos in every exact detail.

         Kael lay on his front; a small silk pillow was provided for his face.  The priestesses lit several sticks of incense, then set a small pot of herbs on the burner.  They slipped a bitter opium pill beneath Kael's tongue and left the room.

         What ensued was a jumble of pain, hallucination, and confusion.  The knife's first slice ached, as the opium hadn't sufficiently fogged the prince's brain yet; he screamed.  The fireberry burned into his flesh, and he arched his back.  The artist grunted to hold the man flat, praying that the drugs would kick in quickly.

         The opium began to work before the second cut.  Kael stared, his eyes wide, as Dath'Remar appeared before him.  Suddenly he was no longer laying on a slab, he was laying on his ancestor; the man's violet arms wrapped firmly around his descendant and he kissed the man's sweaty brow, whispering soothing phrases.  Kael wept into the firm flesh, and his hands clawed into the man's indigo hair.

         Now Dath'Remar began to sing the lullaby that Kael so liked, the one he would sing to himself when he was depressed.  The tall elf's lips reverberated against his descendant's ears.

         The pain was overwhelming now; the fire burned between his legs and he felt dozens of hands flip him onto his back.  He heard himself scream; the sound drowned out Dath'Remar's lullaby, and for a moment, the ancient elf seemed to fade.

         Then he was behind Kael, holding him gently, whispering into his ear.  The scene began to fade into darkness, and Kael felt his eyes close -- when had they opened?  Soon there was nothing, to touch, no sight, just the gentle strains of the lullaby flowing in Dath'Remar's ancient voice.

         Then there was blackness.

 

 

 

 

         He awoke in the recovery hut, a small domed room with a roof of thatched leaves.  He blinked as he tried to force his eyes to adjust.

         "Honey?  You awake?"

         "Mina?" whispered Kael.

         There was sound of someone crawling across the bamboo mats, then arms wrapped around his bare torso.  He hissed and drew back; they had pressed against his new wounds.

         "Sorry, sugar."  Mina hesitated.  "Is there any area of you that hasn't been tattooed?"  Her voice wobbled, and he wondered if she were afraid.

         "My hands," he whispered.

         She took one of his hands and gripped it.  Now his vision was beginning to adjust; he saw that two other elves lay on mats not far from them, fast asleep.

         "What time is it?" he asked softly.

         "Not sure, but well after midnight.  The pain's keeping me awake."  Mina shifted.  "They couldn't give me the herbal medication because I reacted badly to it the first time."  She sniffled.  "I had horrible hallucinations," she whispered.

         "I'm sorry to hear that."  Kael finally remembered that his right arm was tattoo-free, so he draped it around her and pulled her gingerly against his body.  She rested her head gently on the tip of his shoulder, and he was surprised to learn that her cheeks were damp.  He had never known the woman to weep.

         "The bath part was nice," she whispered abashedly, and he chuckled.

         "Yes, it was."  He felt his cheeks glow.  "I'm afraid my enjoyment was a bit too obvious."

         "The poor priestesses."  Mina chuckled now, too.  "That's understandable.  Men are unfortunate; they can't hide such things."  She sniffled again.  "I didn't expect the tattooing to be quite so painful."

         "It's okay; the worst is over."  Kael winced and shifted.  His scrotum burned badly enough to drown out the pain across the rest of his body; he gingerly touched the area.  The skin had swollen substantially.  "Did they leave any cool cloths or anything?"

         "There's a small pool of water in the centre of the room," whispered Mina.  "It's nice and cold."

         Kael moved away from her and crawled gingerly across the mats.  He sat at the edge with his legs spread wide and bent to cup the liquid in his hands.  It was deliciously cool as it drizzled across his sex.  He closed his eyes and repeated the motion.  This time it stung for a moment, but then returned to a gentle cool.

         "They medicated it with mint and eucalyptus leaves," said Mina's soft voice, not far from him.  "Eldin told me about some of the medications they use here."

         "That's supposed to be sacred information," whispered Kael.  He sloshed the water along his left arm and his chest.  His legs, fortunately, didn't burn too much, but his back smouldered, probably because he had been lying on it.  "Would you mind doing my back?"

         Mina turned his shoulders and cupped the liquid in her hands, then let it flow down the prince's skin.  He dropped his head and let out a soft sigh.

         "Thanks," he whispered.

         He must have crawled back to the mat and fallen asleep; when he awoke, sunlight peaked through the thatched roof.  Priestesses were attending to each of them; Lotimara sat above Kael, a cloth in her hand as she gently sponged him down.

         "How are you, Milord?" she asked gently.

         Kael tried to speak, but his throat was dry from the opium.  The priestess lifted a cup to his lips and he quickly drained the sweet liquid.

         Loti turned to his body and began to wrap his torso in a poultice.  "Fireberry always takes a long time to heal," she said gently, "and you are showing some signs of reacting poorly to it.  This poultice will help."

         Kael whispered his thanks; his eyes slid closed.  The woman rubbed healing oil on the rest of the wounds.  When she reached the line between his legs, he shrieked before he could stop himself; Loti drew away.

         "I'll call the High Priestess to see what should be done about that," she whispered, a bit of a blush on her cheeks.

         The High Priestess arrived shortly afterwards.  She sat in front of the prince and spread his legs, inspecting him in a far-too-familiar way that made him begin to sweat.  After a moment, she withdrew a paste from the bag of medicines at her side and slathered it on generously.  Kael hissed and pulled back; the paste stung the wound.

         The priestess motioned for her subordinates as she chanted healing spells; they lit the opium burners and set them around the prince's body.

         His dreams consumed his consciousness almost immediately, and it was several hours before his was lucid again.  At one point, he began to shriek something about a book.  Mina inched over to him and sat with her legs shifted to the side; she wiped the hair from his sweating face.  He looked up at her with dull white eyes.

         "Give me the key," he gasped.  His eyelids began to flutter.

         The sorceress looked down at him with pity, then shifted to sit behind him.  She sat cross-legged, even though this aggravated one of her tattooed lines, and gently pulled the prince's head into her lap.  She sang the lullaby he liked for him as her claws gently combed his hair.  Her voice was sweet and skilled, and Kael's eyes soon slipped closed; his breathing slowed and his whimpers faded.  He smiled as in his mind, Dath'Remar sang the words to him.

         The other two elves were still staring, their eyes wide.  Mina stopped singing to glare at them.

         "Give your prince some privacy," she snapped, her voice slowed slightly by the drugs.  She nodded her chin at the male.  "You were shrieking something terrible yourself not so long ago, Jindaol, and you didn't see us staring at you as if your head were on fire."

         The elves muttered apologies and quickly bowed their heads.

         Now Kael was asleep, a twitching smile on his curled lips.  Mina smirked and ran her hand along his jaw.  He was probably dreaming about Jaina.  She slid out carefully so as not to alert him of her presence; she certainly didn't want to show up in a dream of that nature.

         The prince rolled onto his side and gripped her arm as she tried to slip away.  The sorceress winced and pulled the arm; his grip tightened.  His eyelids parted and his eyes glowed a gentle blue as he looked at her.

         "Stay close," he whispered.  "I don't want the bad dreams to come back."

         Mina stared, trying to determine if he was lucid or not.

         "Please."

         She had heard this tone before.  When they were a mere six years old, they had wandered too far into the woods -- at her urging, probably, to chase a toad or a snake or some other creature.  They wandered and wandered as they tried to find their way back to Silvermoon.  Kael had been something of a soft child, and at some point, he sat down and began to bawl.  Mina had knelt and put her arms around him and kissed his cheek and smoothed the hair from his face and promised that everything would be okay.  As his tears had slowed, she had pulled away -- even at that young age, she knew it was improper for a boy and a girl to be so intimate unless they were in love.  He had said, in that tone she had just heard now, "Don't leave me, Mina."  The desperation and fear behind the words had conveyed the urgency to her, and she had held him carefully throughout the night to let him know that he wasn't alone.

         The sorceress lay down beside her friend; he rolled onto his side so that his back was towards her.  She spooned behind him, with a distance respectable enough to remind him that this contact was platonic -- they were both naked, after all -- and draped her arm across his body.  Kael hugged it to his chest.

         "Thank you," he whispered.

         The woman gently leaned forward and kissed his shoulder blade, then closed her eyes and promptly fell asleep.

 

 

 

 

         Mina's recovery was quick after that; she was the first one to leave the recovery hut.  She left in bright spirits, eager to see Eldin again.  Kael was saddened as he watched her leave; as much as she annoyed him, she was a true friend, which was more than could be said for his other two roommates.  They barely spoke to each other, let alone to him.  Kael tried to strike conversation with Loti, but she was too shy.  Eventually he took to sneaking bits of the opium so that he could converse with Dath'Remar, but the High Priestess caught on and put a halt to that.

         First one of the elves was discharged, then the other, so Kael was the only person left to heal.  The line between his legs was being particularly stubborn -- the High Priestess scolded him for choosing such a foolish place for a tattoo, and Kael found himself beginning to resent her.  Finally, however, it healed and he was discharged to stay with his family until he was feeling well enough to return to Dalaran.  He was able to sit again without flinching, and his bodily functions no longer brought pain.  The result was a throbbing erection that plagued him for nearly three days afterwards until he broke down and rode to Strahnbrad to visit Kalnaka.

         She wasn't in.  A gardener who tended to the yard -- since when could Kalnaka afford a gardener? -- told Kael that she was at her restaurant across from the Town Hall.  This was news to the elven prince; he raised an eyebrow.

         The restaurant was a small pub with a thatched roof and walls that had been quaintly boarded with brown wood over white stucco.  The room inside was dimly lit and packed; several men stood by the bar rather than wait for a table.  Kael stared.  Perhaps Kalnaka had more business sense than he imagined.

         He asked for her at the counter; she arrived from the kitchen, her cheeks flushed and her hair swept back in the same red bandana he remembered.  Her eyes widened as she saw him; she ran around the bar and launched herself into his arms, then showered his cheek with kisses.

         "Oh, gods, I've missed you, Kael," she said.  Before he could speak, she turned and yelled something at the barkeep and then grabbed the prince's hand.  "C'mon," she said.

         The inside of her house had been renovated.  The hardwood floors were varnished now, and the sunken bathtub had been replaced with a porcelain one with flowing water.  Her bed was enormous and plush, and her kitchen had been replaced with the most modern of appliances.  Kael stared.

         Kalnaka took his cloak and hung it on a hook on the wall, then hurried to light the stove.  She set the teakettle on it, humming a little.

         The prince wasn't sure what to say.  He drifted to a settee and sat on it, watching her as she went about her work.

         "Are you still taking clients?" he asked finally.  The woman turned to shoot him a grin; she was amused by his awkwardness.

          "Just favourite customers."  She winked.  "But you will always be free of charge, Kael."  She turned back to the tea.  "Prince Arthas finally visited me.  He said you sent him."  She shot him a raised brow, demanding explanation.  Kael sighed and looked away.

         "I know his heartbreak too well; I suppose pity is my weakness," he murmured.  "Besides, you said you needed clients, and Arthas is certainly wealthy."

         "I thought you didn't trust him," she said.  She poured two china cups full of the tea, then set them on saucers and brought them to the settee.  The cushion shifted as she sat beside him; he could smell her scent, mixed with the smells of baking and ale.

         "If Jaina trusts him, then perhaps I should, too."  He drew the tea to his lips.

         Kalnaka's eyes flickered in a way that he couldn't read.  "Still head over heels for her, then?"

         Kael sighed and smiled grimly.  "I am slowly coming to terms with the fact that she will only ever be a close friend."

         They were silent for a moment; he asked about the restaurant.  She had earned enough money from her "business" to put down a month's rent on the building.  At first she did all the cooking, waitressing and cleaning herself -- "I was working fifteen hours a day" -- but as word spread, business grew, and she had hired more staff.  Now she had nearly paid off her debts, and business was so profitable that she was looking at buying a pub in Andorhal, too.

         They chatted about what Kael had been up to lately; he talked about the Reda'nas.  Kalnaka listened with interest, then set down her tea and gripped his shoulders, urging him to stand.

         He was going to stop her as she undid the clasps of his robes, but refrained.  The clothes slid down his body, and she beheld his nude form.  She gasped and pressed her palms to his collarbones.  The orange tattoos glowed against his creamy skin.  She traced the tattoos with her palms and sucked in her breath, completely in awe.  Her brown eyes were wide when she met his gaze.

         "You," she whispered, "are the most beautiful creature I have ever set eyes upon."

         Her palm slid down his abdomen and she gripped at his member, which had, as he could have predicted, suddenly engorged itself with blood.  Kalnaka slid down to her knees before him and ran her tongue around him, just above her hand.  The elven prince groaned and clutched at her shoulders; his eyes squeezed closed.

         There was no doubt that her previous business venture had showed her some new techniques, and he lasted all of thirty seconds.  Though both were surprised, she swallowed the liquid -- a luxury none of her other partners were afforded -- and then pushed him to a seat on the settee and began again.

         Several hours later they lay entwined under the thick quilt on the bed; the early spring night was chilly, and their bodies were warm.

          "So, I wonder what your real thoughts are on me sleeping with Prince Arthas," murmured Kalnaka as she lit the pipe.

         Kael closed his eyes and sighed.  "Do we have to talk about this now?" he murmured, his teeth gritting.  The brunette rolled onto her side and ran a finger down the prince's nose.  She had missed its sharpness.

         "Jealous?" she purred.

         "Of course not," he said sullenly.  "I only want you to be happy, and you obviously enjoyed yourself."

         "So noble, and yet so proud," she said, and she blew a smoke ring at his face.  Kael coughed.

         "Who?" he asked.  "Me, or him?"

         "Both."  She grinned and tapped the pipe against her teeth, then took another draught.  "You know, the two of you are alike in so many ways.  I see why my sister has been attracted to you both." 

          "Oh?" he asked, curious in spite of himself.  He was quite certain he had almost nothing in common with the human prince.

         "Well, your voices are similar, for starters."

         The elven prince scoffed.  "He is whiny and self-righteous."

         Kalnaka raised an eyebrow, amused.  Kael sighed.

         "What else?" he prodded, challenging.

         "You both orgasm with your teeth clenched," she said, "except when it's reached through fellatio."

         Kael sneered with disgust.  "Thanks," he muttered.  "I'll change that now."

         Kalnaka ran a hand along his slender collarbone, then looped it behind his neck.  "You can't," she said.  "Not if you tried."

 

 

 

**_____________________________**

**FUTURE SCENE**

 (Queen memorial/ birthday celebrations)

 

         "Then we shall have to do without," said the King with a shrug.  "Let's go with yellow; it's closest to white."

         "Yellow roses are used for funerals," said Uther as respectfully as he could bear.

         "Then pink," said the King, nonchalant.  "It will do."

         "Her Majesty preferred white," said the paladin sharply.  Both Terenas and the messenger turned to stare at him; the man's cheeks flushed and he bowed his head.

         "My apologies, Milord," he said softly.

         Terenas watched him for a moment, then turned to the messenger.  "Pink is better than none at all," he said.  "So it will have to do."

         "Yes, your Highness," grovelled the messenger, and he scurried away.

         Uther's head was still bowed as Terenas regarded him.  The King began to cough; the strain of conversation had exhausted him. 

          "Are you alright, Uther?" he asked once the coughing fit had subsided.  "You seem rather tense."

         "The white roses aren't in bloom, Milord," said the paladin in a soft voice.  "It is a bad omen.  That hasn't happened since the year Her Majesty passed."

         Terenas raised a bushy eyebrow.  "You've never struck me as the superstitious type."

         The paladin bowed his head further still.  The King watched him for a moment.

         "And what would you have me do about it?" he gently asked his friend.

         Uther was silent.

         The King was confused by the man's demeanour.  He shifted in his seat.

 

 

 

**_____________________________**

**FUTURE SCENE**

 (Warcraft III - early in Arthas & Jaina's mission)

 

         The flaps of the tent parted and Arthas entered.  She looked up from her book, surprised.

         "Do come in," she said dryly as he sat next to her on the sleeping bag.

         "Still as studious as ever," he said.  "Some things never change, Jaina."

         He smelled of musk and sweat from the battlefield, mingled with the ale he had shared with the men; it had been a long time since she had experienced these odours, and her skin began to tingle.  She set the book aside.

         "What are you doing, Arthas?" she whispered.  "If anyone saw you come in here-"

         "The men are talking already," retorted Arthas.  "I say, let them.  We both know the status of our relationship."  He looked sideways at her as he said this.  She blushed.

         "I'm really glad you're here," he added.  "I've missed you, Jaina."  He smelled vaguely of ale.

         She swallowed a sudden lump in her throat.  "I've missed you too, Arthas."

         He put his hand to her far shoulder and brought her in for a hug.  She pressed her cheek to his ear, the skin seeming to dance with electricity between them.  He didn't let go; instead, his lips travelled to her ear.

         "I've missed you," he said again, his breath hot beneath her hood..  She let her eyes slip closed as he kissed the ear, then her temple.

         "Arthas," she whispered.

         He ignored her and kissed down to her jaw, then toward her mouth.  She sighed and pushed him away, then gathered her knees to her chest.  A tear trickled down her cheek.  The prince sat back and rested his hands on his thighs.

         "Please don't do this, Arthas," she whispered.

         He gritted his teeth.  "Do what?  Be honest with you?"

         "We have a beautiful friendship," she whispered. 

          "Because we are in love!" he cried, his voice raising a bit.  She quickly shushed him; his next words were whispered so that no one would overhear.  "We don't have to be traditional, Jaina.  We can work it out."  He gripped her shoulder.

         "We've had all these arguments before," she said.

         "And we will continue having them until you can tell me honestly that you don't love me," he hissed.

         "I can't do that," she whispered, a tear falling down her cheek.

         "And why is that?" he prodded.

         "Arthas..."  She shook her head and let her chin fall to her chest; a long sigh slipped from her lips.

         He leaned closer.  "Well?"

         Her hand slipped into his and she looked up at him, her eyes damp.

         "Arthas," she whispered, "Can't you see that only disappointment and unhappiness will come if we are together?"

         "Can't you see that they will also come if we are apart?" he cried, frustrated.

         She sniffled and another tear streamed from her eye.

         "Yes," she whispered.

         "Then let's get back together," he whispered.

         "I need time to think this through," she murmured.

         "You've had more than a year," he snapped.

         Jaina sighed and cupped her hands to his face, her thumbs caressing his high cheekbones.

         "Then maybe it's time for you to move on.  I might take forever."  She sighed and gave a small smile.

         "I tried."  His eyes searched hers earnestly.  "I honestly tried, Jaina, and didn't work out.  It's never going to work out because I can love only you." 

          "You tried?" she whispered, her face falling slightly.  "How...how seriously?"

         Arthas sighed.  "Jaina..."

         "Did you sleep with her?" she persisted, her eyes narrowing a little.

         The prince met her gaze.  "Yes."

         Her eyes squeezed shut and she looked away.  "Who?" she whispered.  When he didn't answer, she added tersely, "Was she beautiful?"

          He sighed, then folded his muscled legs beneath his body and rested his arms on his knees.  "Jaina," he said, a hint of anger in his voice, "if I didn't know better, I'd think you were jealous."

         She didn't reply; he let out a huff.

         "You wanted me to try to move on, and I did.  You have no right to break up with me and then get mad when I sleep with someone else!"  His tangled hair fell into his face as he spoke; he sighed again and smoothed it behind his ears with a gloved hand.

         "I could only think of you, Jaina."

         She sniffled and wiped at her eye.  He turned and put a hand to the back of her neck, his thumb rubbing against her skin.

         "Can you at least admit you're jealous?" he asked.

          "Of course I'm jealous," she snapped.  She sniffled again and looked up at him.  He watched her for a moment, then smoothed back her hood to get a better look at her face.

         "Because you love me."

         "You're incessant," she said, annoyed.

         "Well?" he persisted.

         She dabbed at her face.  "Why won't you let me fall out of love with you?" she whispered.  "Why won't you let me, Arthas?  Don't you know how much it hurts me every time I think there's the possibility that we might be together, only to have it shattered every time?"

         "I don't want to stop loving you, Jaina," he said softly, "After this is all over, how about we try again?"

         "Try again?" she whispered.

         "Just for a few weeks," he said. "To see if it can work.  I don't care about the long term.  I don't care about any of it.  We'll deal with it as it comes up."  His eyebrows furrowed.  "Please."

         She reached up and pulled him in for a long hug.  Her chin hooked over his shoulder and she let out a low sigh.  His armour was hard and cold against her chest, and she longed for the warm, soft carpet of the fur beneath it.

         "I'll think about it," she whispered.

         "When we get to Hearthglen," he whispered into her hair, "we will get a room at the inn where no-one will overhear us."

         Jaina pressed her lips into his ear.  "I'll consider it," she whispered, trying to deny the fact that she was going to accept his invitation.

         "Good."  He hugged her tightly, then pulled away and ran his hand along her jaw.  "I should get some sleep, and so should you."

         "Stay with me," she whispered before she could stop herself.  His eyebrows shot up.  "No sex," she clarified.  "I just...want you to hold me."

         "If I hold you right now, after more than seven months without you, there will be sex whether you want it or not," he said.  His kiss was gentle against her cheek.  "Tomorrow night, Jaina."

         "I'll be there," she whispered, and a tear trailed down her cheek as her lips met his.

 

 

 

**_____________________________**

**FUTURE SCENE**

 

 

         "Damnit!"  Arthas turned to Jaina and grabbed her hands.  "Go find Uther, Jaina.  Tell him to bring his men here immediately!"

         "But, Arthas-" she started.

         "Go!" he cried.  "There's no time, and you can travel the fastest."

         She sighed and gripped his neck, drawing him down for a quick, deep kiss.  "Be careful," she whispered when she pulled away.

         A few of the men began to grumble and pulled out their change purses to hand gold to their colleagues.

         "What are you looking at?" snarled Arthas.  "Get off your asses and get into that city!"

         Syrius moved to stand alongside his friend.  "That little kiss just earned me fifty gold.  Thanks, buddy!"  He winked.  "You know, if you give proof that you're sleeping with her, I get a hundred more.  Don't need much; maybe you can just make her groan loudly enough for us to overhear tonight or something?"

         The prince glared at his friend; the lord closed his mouth.  After a moment, Arthas looked away.

         "I'm going to find out who the leader of this troupe is," he murmured.  "You in?"

         "Definitely," said Syrius, somber.

         "Alright, men!" said Arthas as they assembled themselves around the town hall.  "Blackbrow and I are going into the enemy camp to cut off this invasion at the head.  Scarsdale, you're in charge."

         "Milord-" protested the Captain.

         "If we aren't back in three hours, bring out a small battalion to find us."

         "Three hours!" cried Scarsdale.

         Arthas ignored him.  "Three riflemen, one knight, two footmen.  Garithos, you're in charge when Scarsdale leaves, got it?"

         "Yes, Milord," said one of the senior knights.

         "Good."  Arthas raised his mallet.  "For Lordaeron!"

 

 

 

**_____________________________**

**FUTURE SCENE**

 

 

         Jaina swore as her magical energies were depleted so she couldn't teleport anymore; she began to run to Strahnbrad.  Her boots caught on a pebble, and she fell to her knees, swearing. 

          Voices; trolls.  She was still too drained to teleport.  She pulled a potion out of her satchel and drained it; the liquid revived her just enough to cast a spell of invisibility.

         The trolls were bantering in their native tongue.  It was a drawling language, and she listened, intrigued.  They were slight creatures, with bright blue skin and fiery orange hair.  One of them stopped in front of her and began to snuffle the air.  She closed her eyes as she felt her energies draining; she couldn't keep the spell up forever.

         At last, she opened her eyes.  The trolls were gone.

         Her instincts told her to sink to one knee, but she kept running instead.  Any moment she rested meant another moment Arthas would be fighting for his life.

         Night was beginning to fall.  Already?  How long had she been running?  She staggered and stopped for a moment, her hands on her knees as she caught her breath.

         At last, the campfires of the Strahnbrad camp appeared on the horizon.

         Uther sat with his troops over an evening meal.  He stood and stared as she ran up to him.

         "Jaina!" he said.  "Are you alright?  Where's Arthas?"

         As she explained the situation, one of the priests stood and pressed a hand to the back of her head.  Immediately, her tiredness faded somewhat, though her magical energies were still drained.  A soldier brought her a plate of food, and she began to gnaw hungrily on a chicken bone, talking around it.  Uther's jaw tightened and he turned to his men.

         "We're moving out!" he called.  "Third battalion, hang back and pack up the camp.  Follow us as soon as you can."  He turned to Jaina.  "Would you like a horse?"

         "Please," she said.

 

 

 

 

**_____________________________**

**FUTURE SCENE**

 

         Three hours was sufficient time for the prince and the lord to find the undead army's main camp.  They had hung back, picking off any enemy who blundered into their path as they tried to determine who the leader was, thus far unsuccessfully.  The prince had finally lost patience; the rescue party was due in ten minutes.  He let out a cry and darted into the centre of the camp.

         Syrius had followed, of course; he always did.  Now, he was beginning to wish he hadn't.  He pressed his back to Arthas as the undead beasts circled around them.  They side-stepped warily.

         "Come on!" snarled Arthas.  "Attack us!"

         "Where are the reinforcements?" snapped Syrius, panic in his voice.

         "Just take them one at a time," murmured Arthas.  "I'll heal you if you fall."

         "But what if you fall?" asked Syrius nervously.

         The undead army began to charge.

         Arthas kept his back to his friend's as he severed the neck of one beast.  His next stroke took out two more.  They kept coming; every time one fell, two more would appear.  He gritted his teeth and yelled, swinging his mallet wildly before him.

         He heard Syrius cry out, then felt him slide down his back.  He sent a healing bolt at his friend without looking back, still fighting the waves of the undead.

         "Syrius," he called, and he grunted as a beast charged with a long spear; the mallet was, fortunately, longer.  "Are you still with me?"  Blood spurted from the beast's crushed ribcage and splattered across Arthas' face.

         There was no response from Syrius.

 

 

 

**_____________________________**

**FUTURE SCENE**

 

 

         Scarsdale swore as he lead his company toward the prince and his friend.  When they were within firing range, the riflemen stopped and started firing rounds.  Many of the attackers fled; the rest fell to reveal Arthas, hunched over the body of his friend.  The Holy Book sat on the ground, open, beside them, and Arthas was frantically reading aloud from it. Scarsdale swore again and ran toward the duo.

         Arthas cradled Syrius in his arms, his hands pressed to a gaping chest wound.  The lord stared absently at the sky and his breaths came in wheezes and gasps.

         "I can't heal him," said Arthas.  "I...I can't..."

         Greenstar rushed forward; perhaps a priest's magic could work where a paladin's magic failed.  He pressed his hand to the man's forehead, then drew away hissing.

         "It's the plague," he rasped.  "They've poisoned him with the plague."

         A sob left Arthas' throat and he pressed his lips to the man's black curls.  He gently rocked him back and forth.  The others watched, not sure what to say or do.

         The prince suddenly stopped rocking and slid Syrius' knife from its sheath.  He pressed the blade to the lord's neck.

         "Milord!" said Scarsdale, alarmed.  He moved to stop him, but Greenstar caught his arm.

         "An honourable death," said Arthas forcefully, his voice trembling.  "You deserve nothing else.  I will make sure that all of Lordaeron knows of the incredible life you led.  You deserve no less."  He closed his eyes.  "Sleep well, old friend," he said hoarsely.

         The knife slashed through the lord's neck; the horrendous wheezing stopped, and silence rang in the men's ears.

         Arthas stood.  His shoulders slumped and the knife dropped from his hand.  It fell to rest beside the body of his friend.

         "Burn the corpse with the others," he whispered.  "We are taking no chances."

         "Milord-" said Scarsdale.

         "Do it!" snarled Arthas.  "If I find out that even one part of his flesh was left unburnt, I shall demonstrate a proper cremation on you, understand?"  He hoisted his mallet over his shoulder and bent to pick up the Holy Book.  Blood had spattered across the pages, but he closed the book without wiping it.  He marched back toward the falling town.  The others stared after him.

 

 

 

**_____________________________**

**FUTURE SCENE**

 

 

         The battle was far from over.

         The undead forces began to rage on their base camp.  When Arthas grew too tired to hold the mallet, he cast it aside and withdrew his sword.  Soon even it grew heavy in his hands.  The troops were tired, and many men had fallen; the peasants hurried to keep up the cremation so that the fallen men couldn't be used to bolster the undead army.

         They were down to one line now; most of the town was in ruins.  Arthas was too tired to keep healing his comrades.  He closed his eyes and prayed to the Light for redemption.

         The Light must have listened, for Uther and his men burst through the town gates not five minutes later.

         "Uther!" cried Arthas.  "Light be praised!"

         The senior paladin nodded to acknowledge his disciple, then led his men into the battle.  Jaina followed not far behind him; though she was tired from her travels, she helped, too.  The undead forces soon retreated.

         As the last beast fled, Uther wiped the sweat from his brow and walked up to his disciple. The prince had fallen to one knee and leaned heavily on his sword, breathing hard.  He had taken several gashes to the face and arm.  Uther pressed his hands to the wounds, healing them.

         "We are fortunate I arrived when I did," he murmured to his disciple.  "If I had arrived one moment later..."

         "You try to defend a town with one small company, if you think it's so easy!" snapped Arthas.  "Perhaps if I'd had the number of men at my disposal that _you_ do-"

         "Arthas," said Uther, "this isn't the time."  He crouched before his disciple and said gently, "I hear that Lord Syrius fell."

         Jaina's head snapped up.  She had been idly drinking some water from her canister a few metres away, listening in on the conversation.

         Arthas' lips twitched and he stood.

         "Mal'Ganis is awaiting us in Stratholme," he said tersely.  "We march there tonight and execute the miserable wretch."

         "Tonight?  The men need time to rest," said Uther gently.  "And it will be easier to fight in the daytime."

         "Fine!  I don't need your permission!" fumed the prince.  He raised his mallet and turned to his men.  "Get ready to move out!"

         "Arthas-" began Uther sternly.  His disciple turned to him and leaned close into his mentor's face.

         "I will kill Mal'Ganis or die trying," he growled.  Then he turned on his heel and began to march away.  Uther stared after him, stunned.

         Jaina hung back for a moment, debating.  Eventually she hurried to catch up with Arthas.

         He didn't look back when she called his name.  She put a timid hand to his bicep; he knocked it away and kept walking.  Hurt, she dropped to walk behind him.

 

 

**_____________________________**

**FUTURE SCENE**

 

 

 

         Eventually they did end up stopping to rest for the night.  Arthas was furious.  Once his tent had been erected, he shut himself in, bringing a flask of whiskey with him.  Uther and the men sat in a circle around the campfire; everyone was somber.  Jaina sat beside Uther, her stomach tied in knots.  She wanted to talk to Arthas, but she knew that it was best to leave him alone.  Eventually, however, her concern won out and she padded over to his tent.

         "Arthas?" she called gently.  There was no response, so she slid the flap open.  The tent was dark; she sparked a flame with her fingers and peered in.

         The prince sat cross-legged in the corner, dressed in only the under layers of his regalia, hunched over the flask.  He squinted up at her, then looked away.

         Jaina leaned over to light an oil lamp, and the tent was flooded with light.  She knelt before him; he dropped his head.

         "Arthas," she breathed, and she put her hands on his shoulders.

         He looked up at her, his eyes watering, then gathered her into a tight hug.  His shoulders heaved as he sobbed into her shoulder.  She rubbed his back and rocked him gently, whispering soothing phrases into his hair.  Tears streamed down her cheeks, too, as Arthas choked out exactly what had happened.

         Soon he pulled away and took another swig from the flask.  She took it from him and downed a gulp, too; the liquid burned her throat.

         Arthas lay the backs of his hands on his shins and stared at his palms.  His pulse beat in the fleshy area below his thumb; he could see the vein jump in the flickering light of the flames.  The blood pulsating beneath the skin...

         "I liked it, Jaina," he whispered.

         Her gaze snapped to stare at him.  "What?"

         "I liked taking his life."  Arthas looked over at her, his eyes wide.  "The sensation of the knife sliding against the flesh, the last struggling breath he took, the relaxing of his body in my arms.  It was orgasmic, Jaina, the most erotic moment of my life."  His voice was growing hoarse.

         The sorceress stared, horrified.

         "What's happening to me, Jaina?" he whispered.

         She busied herself with screwing the lid onto the flask.  "Yes, well, I suspect you're in shock," she said quickly, fighting the bile that was rising in her throat.

         He gripped her shoulders and turned her to meet his gaze; the lid slipped from the flask and its cool contents poured on her leg.

         "What's happening to me?" he asked, urgent.  Tears were welling in his eyes again.

         A tear trailed down her cheek as she watched him, her eyebrows pinched.  "I'm worried about you, Arthas," she whispered.  "Maybe you should go home and let someone else take care of this mess."

         "Mal'Ganis will die beneath my blade, and no one else's!" barked the prince, and he stood.

         "Where are you going?" she asked, terrified.  The prince's eyes were wide, the nostrils flared, and his jaw trembled with anger.  She slid her hand through his; he looked down, surprised to remember where he was.

         "Arthas," she whispered.  "Please, sit down."  She sniffled, the tears flowing freely now.

         He sat and wrapped her in a tight hug once more.  "What's happening to me, Jaina?" he whispered again.

         "I don't know," she said, her voice trembling.  "I don't know."

         He pulled back to look at her, solemn.  His hand ran along her narrow jaw; she closed her eyes.

         "There's no going back, Jaina," he whispered.  "Something has been awakened within me, something I can't stop."  His fingers ran across her lips.  "I'm terrified, Jaina.  What's...what's happening..."  His lips trembled.

         She opened her eyes and met his gaze.  They stared.  His fingertips wandered down her chin to her neck.

         When they reached her collar, he undid the clasp and the cloak fell from her shoulders.

         His skin was musky with sweat, earth and blood; his breath was heavy with whiskey.  She ran her hand down his grimy chest and abdomen to rest in the greasy curls between his legs.  His hands laced through her stringy hair and he drew her down for a deep, biting kiss, pressing her sweat-slicked front to his.  One hand stayed in her hair; the other gripped the slippery ribcage as he moved her along his body to bite the underside of one breast.  His nose snuffled around the flesh there, drinking in the oniony scent of her sweat, then he lowered her to sit in his lap once more, biting hard into the flesh of her neck just below her ear.  She cried out, tears streaming down her face; her nails raked into his chest over the silver scars she had left there months earlier.  Tears flowed down his cheeks, too, drenching her oily skin with salty liquid.

         She was painfully tight, and they both winced as he forced himself into her.  His rough, calloused hands gripped at the damp skin of her hips.  He pressed his nose to hers.  She draped her arms around his neck, breathing hard against his chapped lips.

         He lifted her body and brought her back down in a hard thrust.  Her eyebrows contracted against his forehead, and he closed his eyes, letting his mouth hang open to drink in her rasping breaths.  She aided the next thrust, and his teeth clenched and his lips flared as he let out a grunt.  She sobbed and sniffled, her nose twitching against his.  Her hands clawed at his neck and into his matted hair; his fingertips dug painfully into her hips.  They were both crying out now, not caring anymore who heard them, and she pressed her forehead hard against his as her climax approached.  The pleasure overwhelmed them at the same moment and they yelled, their cries mingling in the warm air between their lips. 

          As the pleasure faded, Arthas and Jaina fell into one another's arms.  Their bodies rocked with sobs.

         They both knew in that moment that something bigger than both of them had already started, that something irrevocable and tragic had been set in motion, and they would never again taste one another's jagged breaths.

         "I love you, Jaina," whispered Arthas harshly in her ear. 

          "And I love you," she replied.  "No matter what happens.  Never forget that."

 

 

 

**_____________________________**

**FUTURE SCENE**

 

         Early the next morning, Arthas paced outside the city limits of Stratholme, muttering to himself.  His company shrank away from him; Jaina couldn't blame them.  The anger on the prince's face was enough to frighten even her away.  He had shaken her awake before dawn and whispered something about armour, then almost left the tent naked; she had caught his arm and quickly buckled on the heavy armour as he stared absently into space.

         He had lost his mind, she was certain.

         At last Uther's party approached.  Arthas stopped pacing and raised his head.

         "About time, Uther.  I figured you decided not to come," he growled.

         His mentor's eyes narrowed.  "Watch your tone with me, boy," he snapped.  "You may be the prince, but I'm still your superior as a paladin!"

         "Thanks for the reminder, _Master,_ " snapped Arthas.  "It's so easy to forget when you're not around to rub it in my face a thousand times a day!"

         Jaina tried to shrink into the background, terrified by the prince's vehemence.

         Uther's chin dropped, but not before Arthas could see a painful wince flash across it.  The prince sighed, feeling a bit guilty.  His next words were calmer.

         "Look, Uther," he said, "before we go in there, I have to explain to you how the plague works."  He explained about the plague's symptoms and what they had seen; Jaina joined in to help explain some of the magical technicalities.  Uther's face grew more and more grim.

         "This is bad news indeed," he said.  "We should-"

         "Milord!" cried a soldier as he came running to them.  It was a young recruit who Arthas had sent ahead as a scout.  "The grain containers have been distributed among the townsfolk.  We're too late!"

         Arthas cursed loudly and buried his face in one hand, massaging his temples.  After a moment, he lifted his head, his jaw set.

         "This entire city must be purged," he commanded.  "Every man, woman and child must be slaughtered and burnt."

         "What?"  Uther's mouth dropped.

         "You heard me!" snapped Arthas.

         Jaina's hand trembled as she put it on Arthas' arm.  "Maybe we can quarantine them," she suggested timidly.  He looked down at her, hurt that she would undermine his orders.

         "You saw, Jaina," he whispered.  "There's no stopping the plague once it starts!  The only thing we can do is prevent it from spreading!"

         "This is ridiculous!"  Uther threw his hands in the air.  "Do you know how many hundreds of people live in Stratholme, Arthas?  You have no right to slaughter them all without looking for another way to-"

         "Every last one of them must die!" snarled the prince.  "I command you, Uther, as your future king!  Slay them all!"

         "You are not my king yet, boy," snapped Uther.  "Nor would I obey that command even if you were!"

         Arthas leaned toward his mentor, his jaw clenched.  "Then I must consider this an act of treason," he said firmly.

         "Treason!"  Uther's eyes widened.  The other men edged away.  Lord Uther was one of the greatest heroes the world had ever seen; how could their prince accuse him of such an atrocious act.

         The prince closed his eyes and let out a low sigh, wondering the same thing himself.  But there was no going back now; there was no hope for the people.  Why couldn't his mentor see that?  He turned to Jaina; she avoided his gaze.  There would be no support there.

         So, Arthas stood tall.  He lifted his chin and glared down at his mentor over the end of his nose. 

          "Lord Uther," he announced, "by my right of succession and the sovereignty of my crown, I hereby relieve you of your command and suspend your paladins from service."

         "What?" exclaimed Uther.

         "Arthas!" said Jaina.  "What are you-"

         "I am your prince, damnit!" snapped Arthas.  "I will do whatever the hell it takes to save these lands!"  He turned to his men.  "If you have the courage to save Lordaeron, come with me.  The rest of you, go back to the Capital City with the shame of your infidelity to the people of Lordaeron heavy upon your shoulders!"

         Some of the men began to leave.  Uther's jaw trembled as he took a step closer to Arthas; there were tears in his eyes.

         "I hope you know what you're doing, Prince Arthas," he said solemnly.  "You're crossing a terrible line here, and there will be no going back."  He shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut.  "May the Light have mercy on your soul," he whispered.

         Arthas kept his gaze steady and firm as he watched his mentor leave, even though his stomach was twisting.  He tried to assure himself that it would be okay; once Mal'Ganis was dead, Uther would realize that he had done the right thing.

         It was only then that he noticed that Jaina was leaving, too.

         "Jaina?" he asked, shocked.

         She turned and he saw that tears streamed down her cheeks.  She bowed her head.

         "Arthas," she whispered, "you've gone mad."

         As she ran to catch up with the others, he started forward, then stopped.  This had to be done; he would straighten things out with everyone later.  When Mal'Ganis was dead and the lands were saved, everyone would see that he was right.

         There was no room for guilt over hurt feelings when his kingdom was at stake. 

          He turned to look upon the crew he had assembled.  Scarsdale was there, faithful until the last, as well as a large number of knights, riflemen and foot soldiers.  A few elves stood to the side, including Greenstar and a handful of sorceresses.  He braced the handle of his mallet in the grass and stood before them.

         "This won't be easy," he said, "but the Light is on our side.  This plague will be stopped."  He thrust his mallet in the direction of the town.  "To arms!"

         As they began to charge toward the town, Arthas bowed his head and prayed for forgiveness.

 

 

 

 

         Mal'Ganis was waiting for him.  He stood with his undead cronies and spread his arms as the prince approached.

         "Greetings, young prince," he said.  "I wondered if you would come."

         "Silence!" barked Arthas.  "You die today, demon!  Right here!"

         "You cannot kill me," said the dread lord, laughing.  "I cannot die, not here.  It is a hopeless battle for you."  He turned.  "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to turn a few of your people into my faithful servants."

         "Never!" snarled Arthas.  "I would rather see these people die by my hand than serve as your slaves!"

         Mal'Ganis raised an eyebrow.  "I see you are more bloodthirsty than I gave you credit for," he said.  "The Dark Lord was right about you."

         "Charge!" yelled Arthas, his vision clouded by red.

 

 

 

 

         She was in tears when he came to see her after the battle.  The sorceress looked up as he approached, then began to sob as she saw the blood of the villagers on his face.  He put a hand on her shoulder.

         "Jaina, there was no other way."

         "There had to be another way!" she cried, trying to gain control over her tears.  "You didn't even look for another way!"

         "There was no time!" he snapped.  "Would you rather I left them to turn into the undead?"

         She didn't answer.  He sighed and sat next to her.

         "All those people, Arthas," she whispered.  "They did nothing wrong."

         He was silent for a moment.  "That is the worst thing about being a prince," he murmured.  "To have to take the responsibility to make a decision in the spur of a moment-"

         "You hurt Uther, Arthas!" she snapped.  Tears once more began to stream down her swollen cheeks.  "How were you able to send him away like that?  I've never seen you so cold."

         "Jaina," he said quietly, grabbing her hands.  "There was no other way."  The blood from his gloves smeared on her skin.  She yanked her soiled hands away, wretching.

         "Oh, Arthas," she whispered, her voice full of grief.  "What are you becoming?"

         The prince frowned and stood; he didn't answer.  She stared.

          "The Arthas I know would never sacrifice his people for the sake of the land!  Who are you more loyal to, Arthas?  The people you've sworn to protect, or the land that will one day allow you to be king?"

         "That hurts, Jaina," he whispered.

         "Well, I can see no other explanation except that you are protecting your right to be king of a nation," she said, her voice dropping in pitch.  "And that scares me."

         "So that's it," he said.  "You want me to fail.  You're hoping I will lose my land, and my right as king, so that we can live happily ever after in wedded bliss."

         She slapped him across the cheek.  He clutched at his face and stared at her.

         "Don't you ever insinuate that I am even half as selfish as you," she threatened.

         He still stared.  Her face softened and she sighed, then wiped the blood from her trembling hands.

         "I love you, Arthas," she whispered.  "I'm terrified."  She began to weep again.

         The prince put his hands on her shoulders and crouched so his face was level with hers; his face was earnest.

         "Jaina," he whispered, "I loved the scream of the women and children as I smashed them with the mallet.  I loved the crunch of their bones.  I loved the terror in the peasants' faces as I bore down on them and snuffed out their miserable lives."  His eyes were wide.  "This isn't shock, Jaina.  This isn't misplaced emotion.  This is raw, orgasmic bloodlust."

         The sorceress slid to her knees and gagged.  She tried to scrabble away from him, but he held her tightly in place.  She clutched her hands over her mouth.

         "No!" she cried.  "No..."

         "That is why Mal'Ganis must die," he said firmly.  "He's doing this to me.  It's his fault those people are dead.  It's his fault that I enjoyed it!  I can't turn back."

         "Stop!" she begged.  "Please!  Can't you see what this is doing to you?  You're losing your mind, Arthas!"

         "I will show you, Jaina," he said softly, his fingers caressing her chin.  "I am going into Northrend.  When I conquer him, these lands will be saved.  You'll see then that I'm doing the right thing.  And these feelings will-"

         "Into Northrend?" 

          "The demon told me he would meet me there for a final duel," said the prince.

         "Arthas!"  Jaina's eyes widened.  "It's a trap.  He's going to-"

         "Trap or no, it is the only way things can be done," he said, soft and earnest.  "I don't care if I die, or if a hundred men die in the process.  He must be stopped before it's too late."

         "And what if it is already too late?" she whispered.  Her hands gripped his cheeks, and she began to weep.

         His hand rose to tuck her hair behind her ear.

         "I have to kill him, Jaina."

         He stood and turned to leave.  She grabbed his arm and stood.

         "Don't go," she begged.  "Please.  Can't you...can't you see what's happening?"

         Arthas watched her for a moment, then withdrew his knife and held a strand of hair taut.  He slid the blade through the follicles, then gripped the shorn lock firmly in his fist and pressed it into her hands.  His mouth pushed gently to hers.  He licked his lips as he pulled away, memorizing her taste.

         "No," she whispered.

         "I promise, Jaina," he said.  "I will come back to these lands."  His thumb grazed her chin.  "And I will come back to you."

         "Arthas!" she cried.  "Please..."

         "I love you, Jaina," he whispered.

         "Arthas!" she screamed.

         He didn't look back as he walked into the night.

 

 

 

 

         She paced her room for the rest of the night, debating if she really wanted to see the remains of Stratholme or not.  When the first ray of the sun peered over the horizon, she held out her staff and teleported to the city.

         The houses lay in smoldering ruins, and the streets were stained with blood.  Corpses lay everywhere, and the haze of flies was so thick that Jaina brought up her robe to block her airways from them; the cloak did little to stop the smell of rotting flesh.  She fell to her knees and vomitted.

         It was then that she saw a shock of familiar brown hair.  She lifted her head and crawled towards it.

         Sallia.  Dead, her ribcage crushed by a blunt object.  It had to be by mallet.

         There was only one man who had wielded a mallet during the attack.

         "No," she whispered, and she bent to run her hand across the woman's cheek.  It was cold.

         "Jaina!" called Uther.  She turned to see the paladin running toward her.

         "Jaina!" he said again.  "Where has Arthas gone?"

         "Northrend," she whispered.  "He's...he's gone to Northrend."  She stood, tears suddenly streaming down her cheeks again.  "He...he came to me last night, and he was so caught up in everything...I told him it was probably a trap, but he wouldn't listen to me..."

         Uther muttered a slew of curses under his breath.  He rested his fingers on his forehead and let out a long, deep sigh as he tried to control his emotions.

         "Thank you, Jaina," he said, his voice cracking.  "Don't...don't be too hard on yourself.  This isn't your fault.  It isn't your fault..."

         She wondered if he was speaking to himself as much as to her.

         "What's happening to him, Uther?" she whispered.

         "I don't know," replied the paladin, "but he must be stopped.  I have been warned that there is far worse to come."  He turned and ran off, muttering to himself.  She stared after him, then suddenly became aware of another presence behind her.  She turned to see the prophet Medivh.  He watched her, solemnly; she fell to her knees and began to weep.

         "You saw this coming!" she cried.  "You knew it would happen, but you did nothing to stop it!"

         "I cannot see everything, child," he said softly. 

          "Well, see everything!" she cried.  "What happens now?  What happens to Arthas?"

         The prophet knelt before her, compassion rising in his throat.

         "The prince you knew," he whispered, "is already dead."

         "None of this cryptic bullshit!" she snapped.  "What happens to him?"

         "No one can save him now," said the prophet.  "He is dead."  He stood.  "You must take up the cup he abandoned and save the people of Lordaeron.  Bring them to the forgotten lands of Kalimdor; there, you will meet unexpected allies, and the scourge will be stopped."

         "Who will listen to me?" she sniffled.

         "You are the queen of the people of Lordaeron, whether you accept that or not," said the prophet.  "They will follow you blindly, Jaina.  Bring as many with you as you can.  Those who stay behind will be dead within the year."  He bowed his head.  "Good luck."

         "What of Arthas?" she pleaded.

         "Only death awaits him in the frozen north," he murmured.  "You would be wise not to press the issue further."

         His body shimmered and faded into a raven; he flew from sight.

         Jaina stared after him, then turned and began to head for Dalaran.

 

 

**_____________________________**

**FUTURE SCENE**

 

 

 

         The door slammed open; King Terenas looked up, surprised, to see Uther storming into the throne room.

         "What is this?" called the ambassador from Dalaran.  "Guards-"

         "It's okay, Ambassador," said the King.  He feebly stood.  "Uther?"

         "I need to talk to you," said Uther forcefully.  "Right now."  He stopped before the king, wavering a little with fatigue.

         "Yes, of course," said the King, surprised; even after all their years of friendship, the paladin was never this rude or informal.  "Gentlemen, there will be a short recess.  Please head to the dining room immediately; I'll have the servants bring you some food."  The ambassadors left, some of them grumbling; a few of the servants skittered off to the kitchen.  Uther waited until the last of them were gone, then took a step closer to the king.

         "Your son has gone mad," he snapped.

         "Mad?"  Terenas' bushy eyebrows lowered.  "Uther-"

         "He slaughtered the people of Stratholme," said the paladin.  "He disbanded the Knights of the Silver Hand.  Now he's gone off to Northrend to try to defeat a demon by himself!"

         The king's eyes went so wide that Uther wondered if it had been wise to share this news with a man in his condition.  After a moment, the monarch sat, staring into the distance.  The paladin explained the details of the situation; Terenas shook his head.

         "I suppose we put too much on his shoulders too soon," he murmured, wondering why the lad expected to be held responsible for the fate of the kingdom.  "He's cracked under the stress.  We must recall the fleet immediately.  Perhaps give him a nice long vacation when he returns."  It was going to take his diplomats a long time to figure out an explanation for the slaughter in Stratholme.  He massaged his temples.

         "And the Silver Hand?" asked Uther.  Terenas raised an eyebrow, still a bit miffed at being treated so rudely by his friend.

         "Well, that was his doing; I can't go undermining his authority all the time.  He has to learn that his actions come with great responsibility."  He leaned back in his chair.  "I'll have him own up to his mistake and reinstate the Order upon his return."

         The paladin's mouth dropped; he quickly recovered himself and bowed.  "Very well, your Majesty."

 

 

 

**_____________________________**

**FUTURE SCENE**

 

 

         "Jaina!"  The prince stood and bowed.  "What an unexpected honour."

         "Kael," she said, "you have to gather your people.  We're going to Kalimdor."

         "Kalimdor?"  He waved for her to have a seat, and called in Elvish for some tea.  "What's going on?"

         "The undead are going to claim these lands," said Jaina quickly.  "Quel'Thalas, too.  I am taking the people of Lordaeron to protect them.  Your people must come!  These lands are lost."

         "Slow down," said Kael gravely.  "What is this all about?"

         Jaina explained as much as she could, carefully avoiding any mention of Arthas.  Kael listened, his brows lowering as she spoke.

         "Jaina," he said.  "I appreciate what you are trying to do, but my people will stay here to defend our lands."

         "Don't you see?" cried the sorceress.  "You can't beat them!  Not here!  We need to trust the prophet and reform alliances in Kalimdor!  This land is lost!"

         "Jaina," said Kael gently, "do you know how the Quel'Dorei came to these lands in the first place?"  When she shook her head, he continued.  "Ten thousand years ago, deep in the forests of Kalimdor, my ancestor, the great hero Dath'Remar Sunstrider, refused to give up the pursuit of magic.  His beliefs had him exiled with his followers, so they journeyed here to found Quel'Thalas as our homeland."  He shook his head.  "The elves who remain in Kalimdor would never allow us to return.  They don't believe in the right to magic; if we were to be taken from Quel'Thalas, from the Sunwell-"

         "That doesn't matter!"  Jaina leaned forward.  "If you stay here, you will die!"

         Kael's face hardened.  "I would rather die than see my people forced from their lands!" he snapped.

         She stared at him, wide-eyed.  "That's exactly what Arthas said," she whispered.  "And-"  She trailed off, biting her lip as she looked way.

         "So he's dead," said Kael, surprised.

         "Worse," she muttered.  "He's lost his goddamned mind."  She buried her face in her hands.  "He slaughtered the people of Stratholme, Kael.  He suspended Lord Uther from duty and then went to Northrend in a ridiculous mission that will kill him."

         The elven prince sighed and leaned back in his chair.

         "I respect that you are fond of the human prince, Jaina," he said quietly.  "But he has always been headstrong and bloodthirsty-"

         "Bloodthirsty?"  She stood.  "He just did what he thought was right!"

         "How quickly you defend the man after condemning him," said the elf.  "He nearly killed me in cold blood once.  If Lord Uther hadn't been there just then, I would have died under his blade."

         She stared.

         "Well," she said finally, "if a man who could defeat you that easily can't defeat the undead, what makes you think that you can?"

         His eyes flew open.  "Jaina!"

         "Don't let your pride be your undoing, Kael!" she growled.

         His eyes narrowed.  "Don't let your misguided love be yours," he said dangerously.

          She stood.  "I have heard quite enough.  I wish you the best of luck, Prince Kael'thas, and I pray that the next word of you I receive is not word of your death at the hands of the demons whose fires you command!"

         She swung her staff in front of her; he caught it before she could finish casting the teleportation spell.

         "Jaina," he said softly, "I'm sorry."  He sighed.  "There is someone I want you to keep safe, to take with you."

         The sorceress breathed hard, but nodded, swallowing her fury.  "Okay."

         "Her name is Kalnaka," said the prince.  "She lives in Strahnbrad; you'll find her at the restaurant across from the town hall, or at house twenty-nine."

         Jaina stared; Kael had never mentioned this woman before.

         "Who is she?" she whispered.

         Kael ran his hand along her cheek.  "Some things are best left unsaid," he said, bowing his head with shame.  "Make sure she's safe."

         She stared for another moment, then nodded.  "Okay."

         The elven prince gripped her chin and drew her in for a soft kiss.  She had forgotten how gentle his mouth was, and a wave of longing hit her; her lips parted.  He kept the kiss chaste, then released her.  Her tongue darted across her lips.

          "I love you, Jaina," whispered Kael.  "That will never change.  Take care of yourself; I will pray every moment we are apart that we will one day be reunited."

         She stared for a moment longer, then bowed her head, tears running down her cheeks.  She swung her staff in front of her and disappeared from the room.

 

 

 

**_____________________________**

**FUTURE SCENE**

 

 

         The woman was about her height, and her long brown hair was swept back in a red handkerchief.  She wore the simple petticoat and skirts typical of the peasants, and her cheeks were smudged with dirt.

         Jaina stared.  The woman stared back.

         "You look like me," whispered Jaina.

         "You must be Jaina."  Kalnaka grinned and wiped her palms on her apron.  She swung the door open.  "Wondered if I'd ever meet you.  Come in." 

          The sorceress stepped into the simple cabin; there was a sunken bathtub in one corner, and a lush bed, but the rest of the house was nearly bare save for a table and chairs.  Kalnaka put the kettle on as Jaina slid into a chair.

         "Kael sent me," she said.

         Kalnaka didn't turn around.  "And here I thought he'd go to any length so as we'd never meet."  She began to pack a bowl of tobacco, then turned and flashed Jaina an eerily familiar smile.  "Do you smoke?"

         "No," replied the sorceress.

         "Mind if I do?"

         Jaina shook her head no.  The brunette moved to sit at the table and lit the pipe with a sliver of wood she'd taken from the stove.  The smoke was familiar; the tobacco blend was one that Jaina's father enjoyed.

         "How is Kael?" asked Kalnaka.  "And Arthas?"  She grinned again and blew a smoke ring.  Jaina stared.

         "Just how do you..."  She trailed off, then shook her head and sighed.  It was becoming clear: the woman was a whore.  She didn't want to think about it.  "Look, I'm supposed to bring you to Kalimdor with me."

         "Kalimdor?  Where's that?" asked the woman.

         Jaina sighed again and explained, a bit impatiently, the situation.  Kalnaka's face grew grave as she listened.

         "I appreciate Kael's concern," she said finally, "but I've waited fifteen years to get this restaurant business off the ground and I don't intend to give that up soon."

         "Well, I tried."  Jaina stood.  "If you'll excuse me, I have some lives to save."

         "Wait."  Kalnaka set the pipe on the table.  "How are you getting to Kalimdor?"

         "Ship," said Jaina, surprised by the odd question.

         "Where are you getting ships?"

         "My father, I suppose," said the sorceress.  She hadn't even considered that, and she frowned; now she'd have to go to Kul Tiras.  Convincing her father to leave his homeland was going to be impossible; could she really bear to leave him behind?

         "I'm coming with you," said Kalnaka, and she stood.  "When are you leaving?"

         "Tomorrow, I suppose," said Jaina, still surprised.

         "Spend the night here."  The woman smiled.  "I have to go run the restaurant tonight, so it'll be nice and quiet for you.  You can take my bed.  We'll leave in the morning, when I get off work."

         "Okay," said Jaina, confused.  A suspicion began to form in her mind, but she shoved it aside.  Her mind had far too many worrisome thoughts to contemplate already.

 

 

 

**_____________________________**

**FUTURE SCENE**

 

 

         "Please, Daddy," begged Jaina.

         The Lord Admiral cupped a hand to his daughter's jaw.  "I cannot sway you, can I?"

         "Nor I you," she said, meeting his gaze.

         Daelin dropped his head and let out a slow sigh.  "I will spare you three ships," he said, his voice cracking.  "But Jaina-"

         "Come with me," she pleaded.

         A slow smile overcame the man's face and he lifted his chin to meet her eyes.  "Jaina," he said, "I have pledged my life to aid Lordaeron, and that is what I must do."  A tear formed in his eye.  "I just never expected to lose my daughter."

         "Funny; it always seemed to me that you'd go to any lengths to get rid of your offspring."

         Father and daughter turned to see Kalnaka leaning against the door frame; her arms were folded over her chest and one eyebrow was raised.

         Jaina stared; the woman's statement suddenly confirmed all her suspicions.  Her stomach twisted.

         The Lord Admiral stood; he stared at the woman.  Now that he could see her face-to-face, there was no mistaking that she was his daughter.  She was the spitting image of Jaina.

         "Jaina," he said without looking for her, "please give us a moment alone."

         The sorceress stared, her mouth hanging open.  Daelin turned to look at her; his eyes were apologetic.

         "Please," he whispered.

         The woman bowed her head, then stormed from the room.

         Kalnaka stepped forward, and the man saw her jaw tremble.

         "You must be Helene's daughter," he said softly.  His jaw trembled, too.  "Kalnaka."

         "I am," said the woman without any hint of anger.

         "You have her eyes."  Daelin walked up to the woman and stood before her.  "You must understand my position," he said.  "Helene was with many men-"

         "She loved you!" snapped Kalnaka, and a tear trailed down one cheek.  She angrily wiped at it.  "She quit her business after her first meeting with you!"  The woman's head bowed.  "If you had bothered to read any of her letters all the way through, you'd know that," she growled.

         Daelin bowed his head, too.  "You must understand, Kalnaka.  When your mother wrote to me, I had just found out that I had fathered an illegitimate child to my lover in Dalaran.  I was frightened and paranoid, so I understandably assumed-"

         "You deserve every bit of it for sleeping around on your wife," snapped Kalnaka.  Her brown eyes burned.

         Daelin sighed.  He walked back to his chair and sat down, then waved for her to sit where Jaina had sat.  Kalnaka set her jaw.

         "I'd rather stand, thanks," she said tersely.

         The Lord Admiral watched her.  "What do you want from me?" he asked evenly.

         Kalnaka bowed her head.  "I don't know," she whispered.

         He stared at her for a moment longer, then reached into his pants pocket.  He pulled out his cheque book and a pen.

         "How old are you now?" he asked as he began to write.

         "Twenty-five," she said through clenched teeth.

         The man finished writing the cheque and tore it from the book.  He strode across the floor to her; his boots echoed loudly in the large room.  He pressed the cheque into her hands.

         "Two-thousand gold for each year," he said softly.  "It will aid you in Kalimdor."

         "I'm not going to Kalimdor," said Kalnaka flatly; she slipped the cheque into her pocket.

         Daelin sighed and bowed his head.  "Very well."

 

 

 

**_____________________________**

**FUTURE SCENE**

 (Kalimdor)

 

         The first thing Jaina did when they landed was set up a shrine in memory of Arthas.  She had brought a potted rose plant with her; she had wanted white, as he would have liked, but the only ones left in stock were pink.  There hadn't been many florists in Kul Tiras, and she had no time to find another, so she had taken pink.  The lock of hair Arthas had given her was sealed in a small glass perfume bottle -- again, not what she had wanted, but it was the only thing available.  She tried to find a portrait of Arthas to bring with her, but there were none at her disposal, so she had brought the flag of Lordaeron with her.  He had died to protect the kingdom, after all, so it seemed a fitting tribute.

         The troops scouted the area where they landed and determined that it would be a safe place to build camp.  She named the new city "Teremoore" in a combination of the names of the King and her father.  The elven cartographers had misheard the name and spelled "Theramore," and that was what it became.  At first, the city was just based on the island they had landed on, but soon they began to explore the continent itself. 

          As the workers constructed the citadel that would safeguard their new home, Jaina settled into the log cabin that had been erected for her.  She went into the backyard and planted the rosebush, then set the flag into the soil behind it.  One of the dwarven blacksmiths built a plaque for her: it bore Arthas' name, the date of his birth and death (she used the day they had last seen one another), and a small mould of his face.  The craftsmanship was so remarkable that she stared at the plaque and felt as if Arthas were staring back.  She had the plaque built into the lid of a small wooden box and buried it in the ground so that only the plaque showed.  The glass bottle with Arthas' hair fit perfectly into this tomb.

         The rosebush was already in bloom.  She watered it diligently and for several days it flourished.

         Until the day Arthas returned to Lordaeron.

         On that day, Jaina stared.  The rosebush was dead.  The petals of the roses were white, as if the colour had been sucked from them.  She fell to her knees before the plant and stared.  Her hands trembled as she opened her miniature tomb.  Encased within the glass bottle, the golden locks of her lover's hair had faded to a dull silver sheen

 

 

 

**_____________________________**

**FUTURE SCENE**

 (Arthas killing his father cinematic)

 

         The petal was vividly pink in his fingertips.  The colour was startling and disturbing after the colourless lands of Northrend.  He stared at the petal.  Mocking him with is vivacity.

         It would have been more appropriate had it been white.

 

 

 

**_____________________________**

**FUTURE SCENE**

 

 

         "Lord Uther!  Lord Uther!"

         The peasant came careening through the doorway; his feet skidded on the floor as he ran up to the bar.

         "Lord Uther-" he began.

         "I know," said the paladin.  "Prince Arthas has returned."  He turned back to nursing his gin and tonic.

         "He has stabbed the King, Milord!" cried the peasant.  "You must save him!"

         Uther stared for a moment.  "Pardon?" he asked faintly.

         "Told him he was succeeding him, then stabbed him through the heart."  Tears ran down the peasant's cheeks.  "You must come immediately!"

         "Bloody hell!"  Uther turned and ran for the door, knocking over his drink in the process.  He stumbled with the liquor coursing through his veins, but he pressed on. 

          Lordaeron's citizenry was in a panic.  Men, women and children ran into the streets.  Soldiers milled about, not sure who or what they were supposed to be attacking.  Uther pushed through the crowd and ran through the courtyard. 

          The palace staff saw him coming; they lowered the drawbridge.  Uther leapt onto it before it had settled on the ground and ran across.

         There was a small crowd of priests, paladins and palace staff crowded around the body.  They parted as they saw the paladin enter; Uther knelt by his friend.  Even before he touched the man, he knew he was dead.

         "No," he whispered, and his arms cradled the fallen regent.

         Gavinrad knelt beside the paladin.  "No one saw this coming, Brother."

         The senior paladin buried his face in the ruler's hair.  "Who did this?" he whispered.

         "It was Arthas, Brother."  Gavinrad bowed his head. 

          Uther swore under his breath and brought a hand to his face.

         "There was an aura of evil about him.  I think he's been enchanted," whispered Jorn somewhat desperately.

         "Please spare me your empty consolation," said Uther.  He added a bit more softly, "I think I need a moment alone, please."  He stood and abandoned the body, then wandered through the door.

         His feet took him to the memorial gardens.

         A tall figure dressed in black was attacking one of the pillars at the end of the row with his sword.  Uther froze.

         The figure lifted his head.

         "Arthas," whispered Uther.  The prince stared for a moment, then fled so quickly and inhumanly that the paladin was certain it had been an apparition.  When he arrived at the pillars, however, he saw that two of them were destroyed.  One was King Terenas'.  The other was Arthas'.

         Uther stared, then quickly turned to Queen Rosia's.  It was still intact.  He pressed his hands to it and bowed his head.

         "I have failed, my love," he whispered, and he sank to his knees.

          Uther lay on the floor and curled into a foetal position, his hands clutching at his stomach.  Memories flashed through his mind: the prince's first tooth, his first swordfight, his first girlfriend, his first battle.  All the times Arthas had been sullen and disobedient had seemed paltry at the time, as if he were a spoiled child; now they seemed a thousand times more insidious.  The prince's arrogance and temper were no longer character trait's in Uther's mind: they were definite warnings of the destruction to come, warnings that he had overlooked because of his love for the boy.  No, he wasn't to blame for the prince becoming a monster, but had definitely had the opportunity to stop it before.

         He stood and brandished his mallet.  One day soon, he knew, he would face Arthas one final time.  And he would not stop until the monster he had helped create was dead.

 

 

**_____________________________**

**FUTURE SCENE**

 

 

 

         "By Prince Arthas!" cried Kael.  He threw back his head and laughed.  "What a mighty warrior he is -- picking on his ancient, defenseless father."

         "Milord?" said Tancred, backing away.

         "I always knew he was a cretin," said Kael, vindicated.  "To think I pitied him.  Well, no matter.  He is one man.  The Alliance's forces can easily crush him.  It will be a pleasure.  Perhaps I will do it personally."

         "Milord, he has proceeded to slaughter everyone in Lordaeron, and is amassing an enormous Undead army," said the messenger.

         "I like not this news," said the elven prince, his face falling.  "How big is 'enormous?'"

         The messenger was silent for a minute.  "There are fears that within a year, his forces will be too great for anything or anyone to stop.  Even if we were to ally with the trolls, the orcs, and the dwarves."

         "That's impossible!" snapped the elf.

         "There are a lot of corpses in the ground, Milord, and he has the power to raise every single one of them."

         Kael considered.  "This is bad news indeed."

         "Yes, Milord.  The Archmage Antonidas has requested your return to Dalaran to help bolster the city against an impending attack."

         "I must stay and protect Quel'Thalas," said Kael quietly.

 

 

 

 

**_____________________________**

**FUTURE SCENE**

 

 

(Loti & Kael are riding for Dalarn and end up attacked. Kael is temporarily blinded, thinking it's permanent, which is part of a reason he feels an affinity to Illidan later on)

 

 

 

         Loti swore as she saw the prince fall.  She summoned a water elemental to keep the attacking forces busy, then rushed up to Kael.  Her hands hooked under his arms as she dragged him across the marble floor.  There was a gap in the stones in the wall; she knocked.  It was hollow; probably an air duct.  Her slim, clawed fingers slid into the gap and she grunted to pull the stone away.  There was, indeed, a duct inside, dusty with years of disuse.  She dragged Kael into the duct and grunted to slide the stone back into place.  She held the prince in her arms and her face pressed to the crack as she watched.

         It was a few minutes before Arthas appeared.  Loti's eyes widened.  His hair was white and limp; his skin was pale, almost grey, and his eyes were cold.  He paused to speak to one of the necromancers, and she heard that his voice had changed: it was deeper now, weighted with bitterness and hatred.  There was an aura of evil about him that made her hiss aloud, even from this far away.

         She buried her face in the elven prince's hair.  Though it was damp with blood, it still smelled of flowers and sweet wine.  She pressed her lips to it.

          "I won't let you die," she whispered.

         To heal him, she needed light to examine his wounds.  Clearly this exit was useless; she would have to take him to the other end of the duct.

         Her frame was slight; the prince was more than a foot taller than her and nearly twice as wide.  It was difficult work to drag him across the marble floor, and she stopped many times for a rest.  She wasn't sure how long it took -- several hours, at least -- but she finally came to another opening.  Her fingernails scrabbled at the door for a handhold; at last, she managed to hook her claws into the crack between the door and the wall.  The door was heavy, and two of her claws were ripped out in the process, but that didn't matter; they'd grow back.

         Dragging Kael across the grass was infinitely more difficult than across the marble, especially in her weakened state.  Night had fallen; she squinted, trying to determine in which direction the river lay.  It was almost another hour before she found it; she dragged the prince in.  It was much easier to carry him this way, and the undead wouldn't be able to follow their scent.

         She navigated by the stars to take them south; she figured that north would take them too close to the Capital City, where Arthas' reign of destruction had begun.  They would be heading for Quel'Thalas next, she imagined; best to hide in the south.

         Eventually, they came to a small cottage.  Loti knocked at the door; no one answered.  The door gave easily, and she stepped inside to see a nearly barren house.  There were still some bits and pieces of cutlery and bedding, but the inhabitants had packed and fled, and recently so.  Presumably they had fled with Jaina to Kalimdor.

         Loti hoisted Kael into the cottage and closed the door behind her.  She hauled him onto the bed; he groaned and shifted a little.  Her fingers snapped to send a spark of flame to the lamp, and light flooded the room.

         Her instruments and bottles were still in perfect condition; the protective leather satchel had done its job.  She unrolled it and set it on the floor beside her, then bent to examine the elven prince.

         He had a nasty blow to the head that had left a long gash; it had smashed through the thin armour of the spiked plate he wore along the back of his head.  She gingerly removed the armour, then realized that she would have to undress him entirely to give him a full physical.  A bit shy of seeing her prince nude, she began to unbuckle all the armour with trembling hands.  Each piece was laid gently on the floor.  She slid off his robes until he lay naked on the bed.  Keeping her eyes carefully away from his groin, she examined his body.

         His arm was broken; she would have to set it.  An enormous blood blister on his hip looked suspicious, but she finally discerned that the joint hadn't been harmed.  She rolled him over to examine the wound to the back of his head again, then pulled a needle and thread from her satchel.  Though the wound wasn't bleeding, it wouldn't heal properly unless it was stitched.

         She cleaned the wound, then set his arm.  When she was done, she found a bucket and filled it with water from the river.  Then she began to clean his body, allowing healing magic to flow through her hands into his skin.

 

 

 

**_____________________________**

**FUTURE SCENE**

 

         Arthas walked up to Sylvanas.  She squirmed, but the skeletons held her tightly.  He put a hand to her narrow chin and lifted it, but she jerked away.  He frowned and reached for her again, tightening his grip.

         "Why do the pretty ones always cloak themselves with a hood?" he whispered.  He smoothed the hood from her head and gripped her chin with an icy hand.  His cold lips pressed to her cheek.  As he pulled away, she spat in his face.

         "I loathe you," she growled.

         "And I, you," he replied with a smirk.  "You have caused me nothing but trouble since the day I met you, woman.  I think it's time you took on a more useful form."

         "No!" she cried.  "You wouldn't dare!"

         Frostmourne rang against the scabbard as he withdrew it.  He bent forward and thrust the sword through her stomach; she cried out, her eyes widening with impending death.

         His lips brushed against her ear: "Death would be too kind an ending for a pest like you."

         The sword twisted in her gut and she gasped as her eyes clouded over.  Her corpse fell forward, her face pressed to Arthas' shoulder.  The death knight braced his foot on her body as he pulled the sword free.  He wrapped his arm around the lower back of the cadaver as he lay her to the ground.

         Her bones cracked as he forced his hand into her ribcage.  His gloved fingers wrapped around her still warm heart, and he squeezed.  His eyes slipped closed as he muttered a dark incantation.

         Her skin began to darken, and her eyes began to glow under the closed eyelids.  Arthas withdrew his bloodied hand and rested it on his thigh, waiting.

         Sylvanas' skin turned a brilliant shade of blue.  The glow from her eyes burned the skin around her eyes, turning it a deep red.  Her hair turned dark blue, and her eyes opened, glowing white.  She sat up and looked around; Arthas knelt before her.  She looked up with him, her eyes wide as she had one last fleeting moment of free will:

         "You brought me back, you monster!"

         Then the spark faded and her face relaxed as her soul was possessed completely by the Lich King.

         Arthas smiled and chucked her under the chin, leaving a smear of blood.  He stood, hauling her to her feet by her hair.  His troops watched as he held out his hand in introduction.

         "May I present Sylvanas Windrunner, Queen of the Banshees.  We will now turn every single one of the elf-women corpses that remains into a banshee to serve our mighty Master."  He turned to press his lips to Sylvanas' cheek.  "And you, my dear, will be their leader."

         "Yes, Master," she said, her voice echoing with the screams of the dead.

 

 

 

**_____________________________**

**FUTURE SCENE**

 (Kael returns to Quel'Thalas, still blind)

 

         Kael struggled in Loti's arms. 

          "Where is this?" he murmured feverishly.  "This isn't Quel'Thalas...it isn't...it smells of death and burnt wood."

         Loti couldn't answer; her throat was choked with tears and bile.  She began to sink; Kael clutched her shoulder, holding her upright.

         "Where is this?" he demanded, panicking.

 

 

 

 

 

**_____________________________**

**FUTURE SCENE**

 

 

         "I told you she might be useful, didn't I?" came Kel'Thuzad's voice.

         "Shut up, ghost!" snarled Arthas.  "Can't I get a moment's peace?"  He was ill to his stomach, and his body trembled as Sylvanas' glare burned in his mind. 

          "What's happening to me?" he snapped.  "One second, I'm driven and focused, and the next, I'm wracked with guilt."  He pushed into his tent and sat on the bearskin rug. (stolen from Quel'Thalas)

         "That is the curse of being a death knight," murmured the spirit.  "You are still human, and the human spirit is strong.  Its emotions will flare up from time to time."

         "I wish they wouldn't," snapped Arthas crossly.  "It's only going to complicate things."  He leaned forward, cupping his face in his hands.  The emotions still flooding his mind: longing for Jaina, guilt and pity for Sylvanas, sorrow for what he had become.

         "Can't you make them go away?" he snapped.

         The ghost paused.  "One day," it said.  "Be patient, young death knight.  The Lich King's plans do allow for you to transcend your humanity, but not yet."

         "Good," said Arthas.  He yawned.  "With any luck, I shall transcend my need to sleep, too.  It's quite a nuisance."  he rolled onto his side.  "Good night, ghost."

         "Good night, death knight," said the ghost as it dissipated.

 

 

 

 

 

**_____________________________**

**FUTURE SCENE**

     

 (After Kael & Illidan alliance)

 

 

         Kael was in his tent drinking tea when Illidan poked his head through the door.

         "Master!"  The mage set his tea down and moved over to make more room on the quilts.  "Please, come in."

         Illidan raised an eyebrow beneath his blindfold; the tent was much to small for his massive form.  "I wondered if you might like to accompany me on a walk."

         "Of course," said Kael eagerly; he stood and pulled on his boots, then slid out of the tent.  Illidan cocked his head in the direction of the dried riverbed.  They began to walk.  Kael looked around uneasily.

          "This land is so barren, Lord Illidan," he said.  "No trees.  I wonder how you should be able to live here after the verdant lands of Kalimdor?"

         The demon snorted.  "I spent the last ten-thousand years locked in prison for my beliefs, young Kael.  This place is paradise compared to that."  He suddenly stopped walking and motioned at the empty sky.  "Can't you feel the magic in the air?  Doesn't it soothe your anxious soul?"

         He meant it as a rhetorical question, so Kael bowed his head and said nothing.  Illidan looked down at the youth and smiled.

         "Perhaps the magic doesn't hold as much of a grip over you as I first thought."

         "I have been fighting the addiction," whispered Kael.  "But my brethren have not, and they are dependent on this magic for sustenance.  Even I cannot bear to be away for it, so the pain they must feel is hundreds of times worse."  He let out a low, long sigh.  "I have brought this upon them, and I will not desert them."

         The night elf watched him for a moment, then turned his head away.  He sat down; Kael hesitated, then sat next to him.

         "You look so like him," murmured Illidan, "that I often forget you aren't him."

         "With all due respect, Milord," said Kael, "I thought you were blind."

         "There are other senses, young Kael, besides vision."  The demon set his enormous hands behind his body and leaned into them. 

          The prince was silent for a few minutes; he listened to his master's breaths.  The creature's enormous chest allowed for deep, long breaths that were strong enough to raise shivers on Kael's arms when he exhaled.  The blood elf tried to match his breaths with his master's, but his lungs couldn't hold nearly the same amount of air.

         "Lord Illidan," he said after a moment, "when you were in Kalimdor, did you hear anything of a human settlement that had formed on the continent?"

         The other cast a long look at his new cohort, trying to gauge the motive behind the question.  At last he answered, "There was rumour of such a thing when I left, but I never saw for myself."  He looked across to the horizon.  "Perhaps you should ask Vashj.  The naga have seen more than we give them credit for."

         After a moment, Kael ventured, "Why did you call me out here, Master?"

         The other sent him an amused glance.  "To talk," he said.  "You have no idea what poor conversation the naga make."  He chuckled.  "Vashj means well, but she agrees with everything I say, even if I contradict myself."  His blindfold raised to suggest that he had raised an eyebrow.  "I enjoy your company, young one.  Your childlike bluntness is refreshing."

         Kael's eyes slid closed and his stomach twisted at the sudden rush of adrenaline that coursed through his veins.  He timidly edged closer to his master.

         "I'm afraid I come off as terribly naive," he murmured.

         "It is to be expected," said Illidan fondly; his senses failed to notice the glowing affection in the other's eyes.  "How old are you, young Kael?"

         "Not yet forty, Milord," said the blood mage bashfully.

         "And I am more than fifteen thousand years old," said Illidan with a sidelong glance.  "Do not despair; if you were my age, you would be wiser than I am."  The smile disappeared from his lips as he thought of the fact that he had spent two-thirds of his life in Maiev's prison.

         "I shall never know," murmured Kael.  "Without the Sunwell, our life span is that of a human's."  He bowed his head as he realized that his life was almost half spent; he hadn't yet been a quarter through it before the Sunwell had been destroyed.

         Illidan smiled again.  "Kil'jaeden may grant your people with more life than they know what to do with, if you please him," he murmured.

         Kael bowed his head and guilt twisted his stomach.  "Good," he murmured.

 

 

 

**_____________________________**

**FUTURE SCENE**

(Northrend, near the end of The Frozen Throne)

 

         Jaina's shins bled now, the blood freezing her tattered pants to her leg.  There was no sensation in her feet, and her lips were dried and cracked.  She stumbled; her foot sank through the frozen crust of snow to the powder beneath, and the ice sliced another gash in her legs.  She sank to her knees and brought her hands to her face.  Tears froze on her cheeks; her nostrils stuck together.

         She heard a voice behind her; it seemed to be calling.  The language sounded like Elvish, but not quite right.  The sorceress tried to turn her head, but darkness overcame her.

         She awoke in front of a fire, wrapped in thick blankets.  Her face had been slathered with lotion of some sort, and her legs had been bandaged.  A being sat on the other side of the fire.  She gripped in her long fingers Jaina's staff.  The sorceress squinted.  The being was a night elf; she was tall even for a member of her race -- well over seven feet -- and her skin was of a delicate lavender hue.  Her head was delicately shaved save for an enormous blue-black ponytail that protruded from the centre of her head and flowed all the way down to the snow beneath the seated elf.  The haircut should have been shocking to Jaina, but it combined with the woman's long features and slender brows to portray strength and femininity.

         The woman raised her head and smiled humourlessly; she tossed the staff at the woman with one hand.  Jaina scrambled with numb limbs to catch it.

         "You're awake."  The woman reached for her helmet; it was long and black, and obscured all of her face but her lips, ears and eyes when she pulled it over her head.  She rarely took it off in the presence of others.  "You must be a friend of Prince Kael'thas."  It was a struggle not to add a slew of expletives to his name.

         Jaina wasn't sure how to respond to the statement.  After a moment, she regained control of her slack jaw and said, "You know Kael?  But how did you-"

         The woman ignored the first question.  "Your staff bares the same markings as his mana orbs, and I imagine a prince wouldn't go unnoticed among humans."  Here she wanted to add, 'even if he is a prince of a bastard race,' but refrained.  She needed information first; then she could insult the little twerp.

         "Is he okay?" blurted Jaina.

         "He has sworn his soul to protect a vile demon to ensure that his race has an endless fount of power for their bastardized demon magic."  The elf-woman's eyes twitched behind her mask, and Jaina wondered if she were perhaps a bit unstable.

         "Kael would never pledge himself to a demon," murmured the sorceress, and she ran her fingertips along her bandaged shins.  "But thank you for saving my life.  I am eternally grateful."

         The woman leaned forward; her teeth flickered orange in the light of the fire.  "I am hunting the demon Illidan; I had him in my grasp when your noble Prince Kael released him."  She blinked, slowly and deliberately.  "His kind are all that have stood between me and the demon, and I can assure you that they are not protecting him on behalf of the good of the world."

         Jaina bowed her head.  "I don't believe you," she whispered again.  She didn't want to.  She had already lost Arthas to darkness; the thought of losing Kael, too, was unbearable.

         "You seek him?" asked the woman, her eyes steady.

         "Who are you?" demanded Jaina, cross; she had the distinct sensation that the elf-woman was manipulating her.

         "I am Maiev Shadowsong, leader of the Wardens of Ashenvale Forest," replied the woman.  She bowed; her ponytail flooded around her shoulders.  "I was Illidan's keeper for more than ten-thousand years, and I intend to keep him imprisoned for the rest of his wretched life lest he destroy the world with his greed."  Her teeth clenched and her sneer was so violent that Jaina shrank back into her blankets.

         "And I am Jaina Proudmoore," murmured the woman.  "Sorceress and temporary leader of the people of Theramore."

         "I have heard of you," replied the Warden.  "They say you are a great mage."  She moved to sit beside the woman, too near for Jaina's comfort.  "What are you doing here, so far from your people?"

         "I seek Arthas," said Jaina stiffly.  She bit her lip and hugged the blankets tighter around her body.

         Maiev's eyebrows shot up so far that they disappeared from view under her mask.  They returned to their usual position a moment later.  "I see," she said.  "I imagine that the man you seek and the beast I seek will be in the same location -- Illidan is on the move to fight Arthas."

         Jaina's heart pounded in her chest.

         "Kael will be with Illidan, no doubt," continued Maiev, "his lips firmly plastered to the beast's behind."

         The sorceress gritted her teeth.  "You must have the wrong Kael," she murmured, not comfortable to abandon the shelter of denial.  Maiev smirked and crossed her long legs in front of her body.

         "I have a proposition for you, Jaina," said the warden.  "I wish to travel with you to find these miscreants."

         "I expected you to be the type who preferred to work alone," murmured the woman.

         "Normally, yes."  Maiev sighed and leaned back, her hands planted into the snow as if the cold didn't bother her.  "But Illidan is a powerful beast; with the blood elves' help, he is more powerful still, and I likely could not defeat him alone.  All of my warriors have fallen in battle."  She raised an eyebrow.  "Besides, it would appear that you know nothing of survival in the wilderness."

         Jaina flushed, aware that she was naive and inexperienced.  "You make a good point," she murmured.

 

 

 

**_____________________________**

**FUTURE SCENE**

 

 

         Vashj, Kael and Illidan stood in the blood elf base camp, planning their strategy to activate all four obelisks.  The sound of booted foot in snow alerted Illidan's heightened senses first; he paused mid-sentence and whirled to face the woods.

         "What is it, Master?" hissed Vashj.

         "Someone approaches."  Illidan sniffed the air.  "A human."

         "Arthas," growled Kael.

         "No, there is no reek of death on this human," said the demon suspiciously.

         Jaina tried not to breath too loudly.  She had assumed that the invisibility spell would infallibly cloak her.  Her heart beat in her chest.  She had never seen the naga before, and they were horrid creatures.  The stench of sea-water and brine stung her nostrils even from this distance.

         Maiev's hand pressed against Jaina's shoulder.

         The sorceress took a step forward and dropped the invisibility spell from herself, but not from Maiev.

         "I have come to speak with Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider," she said, loudly and clearly.

         Kael's eyes widened and his skin turned white enough to blend in with the snow behind him.  His vision spun.

         "What trickery is this?" he asked hoarsely.

         "Who is this woman?" snapped Vashj.  "Lord Illidan!  She will compromise the whole operation!"

         The demon hunter didn't listen; he watched his young friend.  Kael's jaw quivered and his stance wavered.  He took a step closer to the woman.

         "Is it really you?" he asked.  He was unsure if he should run to her or flee.  His people's situation suddenly struck him: here he was, in service of a demon, addicted to evil magic, and filled with nothing but longing for revenge.

         He paced towards her.  Vashj began to protest; Illidan silenced her.

         "What are you doing here?" he breathed, and he stopped a foot in front of her.  His hands still trembled; he clenched them into fists at his sides.  Now he could see what poor shape she was in: her clothes were tattered, her skin was blotchy with cold, and her lips and nose were cracked.  Her eyes still glowed a fierce blue, and though her hair had lost its lustre, the blonde was still the most beautiful shade he had ever seen.

         "I need to stop Arthas," she whispered, her eyes searching his.

         "That's what we're here for," said Kael, and his heart leapt for the first time since his homeland had been destroyed.  The idea of teaming up with Jaina to kill Arthas would be a realization of almost two years of bitter fantasies.  "We could use your help."

         "What?" snapped Vashj.  She turned to their master.  "Lord Illidan, I will not fight alongside a human."

         Kael whirled to face her; his brows dropped.  "Jaina is the most powerful human I have ever had the pleasure of meeting.  Her skills would be useful indeed in our fight."  His tone was harsh, and the leader of the naga hesitated, taken aback.

         "Don't forget what the humans did to your people," she warned.

         "Jaina offered to save my people, long ago," barked Kael.  "My people chose to be left to our fates, and so have resigned ourselves to life as the weak, pathetic magic addicts that we are.  Her wisdom and foresight outweigh that of my entire race combined.  You shall bite your tongue around her, Vashj!"

         The naga woman's eyes flew open and, too stunned to think of a response, she bared her teeth.

         Illidan strode forward and knelt before the woman; even on his knee, he was eye level with her.  She stared at the blindfold, stunned.  The demon hunter cupped an enormous hand to her cheek, and she flinched away from its coolness.  A smile spread across his narrow lips.

         "You are powerful indeed, young human.  We could use your help if you are willing to offer it."

         Jaina backed away; she cast a panicked glance at Kael.  He watched her, and his eyes were narrowed and his jaw set.  She stared; he looked nothing like the Kael she had known before.

         "I'm not trying to kill Arthas," she whispered.  "I'm trying to save him."

         Illidan chuckled and stood.  He shot an amused smirk at the blood mage.  "I'll let you handle this, young Kael."  His head shook as he walked back to the naga woman.

         The blood mage's sneer had tightened.  "Save him?" he growled in a tone she had never heard before.

         Jaina withdrew the Soul Stone from her robes; it sparkled blue.  "This stone will rescue his soul from the sword Frostmourne," she whispered.

         "You would rescue him?"  Kael's voice rose, and his lips flared to reveal the sharply pointed canines that had frightened her so long ago.  "He has killed his father, and Lord Uther, and my people, and still you would rescue him?"

         "He didn't do any of that," whispered Jaina  "The one controlling his soul did."  She wiped at her eyes, then slipped the stone back into her cloak.

         "He was psychotic long before he ever laid a finger upon Frostmourne!" cried Kael.  His eyes were almost too bright to look at now; she refused to drop her gaze.  "Tell me where he is," she said firmly and quietly.

         "He'll kill you on sight, Jaina!" protested the elven prince.

         "I have to try," she said.  "Where is he?"

 

          

        

**_____________________________**

**FUTURE SCENE**

 

         It was a moment before he recognized the woman.  Her brilliant violet cape was torn; blood oozed from a wound on her arm.  Her eyes were sunken, her cheeks hollow, and her hair was stringy beneath her hood.  The crypt fiends holding her pushed her forward, and she stumbled to the ground before him.  Her eyes burned blue as she set her jaw and looked up at him.

         "Jaina?" he asked.

         "Arthas," she replied.  Her tone was feeble and he would have thought she was about to faint had her eyes not crackled with strength.

         "What the hell are you doing here?" he asked.

         She whirled and cast a blizzard spell on the crypt fiends behind her.  They fell, dead, and she sank against her staff, turning back to Arthas.

         "Now you don't have to put on an act," she gasped.

         "Who said-"

         "I can still read your eyes, Arthas."  She stared coldly at him.  "They haven't changed, even if the rest of you has."

         "You are lucky to have caught me today, when I am in a good mood," he snapped, "or they would have told you that your death was at hand."

         "I don't doubt you'd kill me in a second without the slightest bit of remorse," said the woman.

         "And yet, you still came to see me," he observed.  His iron-clad arms folded over his chest.  "What the hell did you come here for?  I am incredibly busy at the moment, and I don't appreciate this little interruption, nor do I appreciate having my men slaughtered!"

         "Oh, Arthas," she whispered, overwhelmed with sorrow at what he had become.

         "Don't pity me," he snapped. 

          "I...I should have stayed with you, Arthas," she whispered.  "I'm ruler of the people of Lordaeron now."  Her voice wavered.  "They don't care that I am a mage before a ruler.  They don't care that I'll never bear a child.  You were right; it would have worked out.  And then this never would have happened."

         "It would have happened," he said.  "The Lich King had his eye on me from the day I was born.  Don't think that something so petty as reciprocal love would have stopped him."

         "Petty?" she asked.  "Correct me if I'm wrong, but it's reciprocal love that's stopping us from killing one another right now.  It must be a pretty powerful force to stop your reckless bloodlust."

         "I don't feel any emotions anymore, Jaina," he snapped.  "Don't flatter yourself by thinking..."  He trailed off and let out a low sigh as she cast him a sharp look.  "Let's just say that I have chosen my career over you.  Isn't that what you always wanted me to do?"

         She sighed, then stood and held the soulstone before her.  His eyes narrowed.

         "What is that?"

         She closed her eyes and began to chant.  The soulstone glowed a brilliant red; Arthas shielded his eyes.  The glow faded.

         Nothing happened.

          The sorceress opened her eyes and stared.  Why wasn't it working?

         Arthas watched with something akin to pity as she tried again.  "What are you doing, Jaina?" he asked.

         It didn't work.  Jaina swore and threw the stone at the snow, then fell to her knees.

         "I'm trying to save you," she sobbed.

         Arthas stared for a moment, then crouched before her.

         "Jaina," he said with surprising gentleness, "my soul is my own."

         She looked up at him, confused.  "No!  The sword Frostmourne-"

         "No longer has the powers it once did."  Arthas sighed and looked at the ground.  "Its hold has lessened on me, one day at a time, for the past several months.  My soul is free, Jaina.  You can't save it."

         "Then come back with me to Kalimdor," she whispered.  "It's not too late to stop this and repent for everything."

         "Don't you see?" he cried.  "It is too late.  I can't get off of this path because if I do, the weight of what I've done will kill me."  His eyes hardened and he lifted his chin.  "Do you think I could cope with it, Jaina?  If I keep going ahead, then I don't have to think about what I've done.  But if I stop and look back..."  His jaw quivered.  "I would die."

         "The world would be better for it!" she snapped.  "You aren't Arthas' soul!  Arthas would never be so bloody selfish!"  She knew he spoke the truth, in spite of what she wanted to believe.  Arthas would be stubborn enough to continue on a path once he had started on it.

         He sighed and stared at the soulstone, half-buried in the fluffy snow.  "Leave," he muttered.  "You're awakening things that are best left dormant."

         She took a step forward.  "It's win-win for me," she said.  "If I awaken your love and you decide to come with me and repent, then I have won you back.  But if I force you to look back on your past and drive you to suicide, then the lands will be saved from you."

         The sorceress stood barely a foot away from him now; she ran her hand up his icy jaw, and his eyes fluttered closed.  She had expected him to smell of rotting flesh, but he smelled surprisingly human.  The familiar smell reminded her so much of the old Arthas that she closed her eyes for a moment, pretending that things were as they used to be.

         "But what if I don't want these memories to be awakened?" he said, his voice cracking slightly.  "What if I kill you to stop it?"

         A tear ran down Jaina's cheek.  She stood on her toes and pressed her mouth to his. His lips were cold, but his tongue was warm; did that mean he was still human? 

          Arthas gripped her chin and leaned into the kiss.  She was so gentle, so soft...  A groan left his throat before he could stop it and his arms wrapped around her, pulling her tight against his armour.  The icicles that jutted from his chin began to melt under the warmth radiating from her face.

         Then he jerked his lips from hers and sank his teeth gently into the flesh of her neck as he used to do during lovemaking; she cried out, and the cry reminded him so much of the love they had once shared that tears welled in his eyes.  Her hands raked through his hair, frantic, and her head lolled backwards.  Blood rushed to his groin and he wanted to lay out his cloak on the snow and force her against it, making love to her as he used to, so gently...

         His situation came flooding back to him.  He suddenly, violently, pushed her away, and she stared.  His head dropped to hide behind the silky white hair. 

          "Why are you doing this to me?" he growled without lifting his head.

         "Because I love you," she whispered.

         He lifted his chin; his eyes glowed violently, turquoise.

         "If you ever try this again," he threatened, "I will kill you.  Understand?"

         "Arthas," she whispered.

         "I will kill you!"  His hand went to the hilt of his sword, and his harsh breaths rocked his upper body.  "Know this, Jaina!" he cried.  "The Arthas you loved is dead, and he shall remain so!  I will cut down anyone who dares try to draw him out, and, so help me, that includes you."

 

**_____________________________**

**FUTURE SCENE**

 

         "Don't make me do this, Jaina," said Arthas quietly.

         She swung her staff in front of her, and icy shards began to pelt from the sky.  It bounced off his armour; one of the shards sliced off a lock of his hair.  He ducked out of the storm and swung Frostmourne at her; she teleported safely out of his way.

         "You could easily avoid my magic with your paladin's holy shield," she taunted.

         "Are you kidding?"  Arthas turned to face her, a smirk on his lips.  "The Light would never come to my aid now."

         "It's not too late to repent."

         "The Arthas that served the Light is long dead."

         "You should join him."  She summoned three water elementals, then teleported behind him. 

          "Don't make me do this," he said again as he ducked to avoid a blow from her staff without even looking at her.  He waved his hand; the water elementals fell to a puddle on the ground.  His sword swung at her and sheared cleanly through her staff; she staggered backwards, panting.

         "Arthas!"  It was Kael.  The elven prince's eyes were red, and he stumbled towards them, numb with the cold.  His master's blood soaked his brilliant robes.

         "Stay back, Kael," warned Jaina.

         Arthas took advantage of the moment's distraction.  He swung Frostmourne in an arc; Jaina turned in time to see it slicing toward her face. 

          She groaned and slumped to the ground.

         "Jaina!"  Kael ran towards them and stood before Arthas, planting his feet.  "You bastard!" he shrieked.  "She loved you!"

         Arthas turned his back.  "Prince Kael," he said softly.  "Leave.  Now.  I don't want to kill you."

         "Bullshit!"  Kael stood in stance.

         Arthas turned back to the elf and walked up to him, his arms folded over his chest.

         "Your energies are drained," he said.  "You cannot win.  Leave now, while you are still alive."  He began to walk away, then stopped without looking back.  "You do not belong with the demons, elf.  Take care of Jaina.  Make sure she knows that none of this is her fault."

         Then he began his ascent.

 

 

         Memories of Uther and Muradin raced through his mind as he climbed.  His throat tightened as he saw, for the first time, the genuine sorrow on their faces as his soul had grown corrupted by the lure of Frostmourne.  He heard the heartache in Uther's voice as Arthas had disbanded the Silver Hand; he heard the fear in the dwarven warrior's admonishment after the prince had killed his mercenaries.  His stomach lurched.

         He carefully kept his pace controlled, one foot in front of the other.  If he hesitated, he knew we would flee, he would run to Jaina and beg for repentance.  His jaw set as he blinked back tears.

         There was no turning back now; these petty human emotions would soon be gone forever.

         He stood in front of the Frozen Throne; his eyebrows narrowed over his eyes as he gazed upon Ner'zhul for the first time.  Now a voice spoke, overwhelming his memories:

         "Your prince will only find death in the cold north."

         Arthas recognized the voice at once: the prophet.  That was not one of his memories; it must have been one of Jaina's.  Had he somehow acquired some of Jaina's memories as he had infused her with his?  The remorse she had felt upon hearing those words threatened to weaken his resolve, and now he had the overwhelming urge to run to her.  What other memories had he absorbed?

         He was never to find out.

         USE THE SWORD.  COMPLETE THE CIRCLE.  FREE ME FROM THIS PRISON.

         Arthas didn't hesitate.  He lifted Frostmourne and lunged forward, swinging the blade in an enormous circle.  The metal cracked the ice, and it began to crumble.

         The ice dome covering the throne began to crack and fall apart.

         Ner'zhul's helmet fell free from the throne and clattered to Arthas' feet.  The death knight looked at it for a moment; a smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

         In a few more seconds, he would never have to deal with his conscience again.

         He knelt before the helmet and gingerly clutched it with his fingertips.

         Power began to course through his veins before he had even put the helmet on.  It was heavy, and he closed his eyes.

         A second longer, and he would no longer have to fend off his conscience again.

         And now he thought of the time he had visited Jaina before he had gone to Northrend.

         _"Don't go.  Can't you...can't you see what's happening?  Arthas!  Please..."_

The last emotion he ever felt, before his soul was consumed entirely, was remorse.

 

 

 

         The consciousnesses that were Ner'zhul and Arthas ceased to exist as their souls and memories merged into the being that was to be the Lich King.

         NOW, WE ARE ONE.

         The being's eyes opened; they glowed a furious blue.  He turned and paced back to the throne.  The last sections of the ice dome shattered and fell into the ocean, leaving a tall spire.  The Lich King sat at the top of it and stared across the frozen land.  His kingdom.

 

 

 

**_____________________________**

**FUTURE SCENE**

 

 

         Kael prepared the opium as Loti had taught him.  Jaina's wounds from Arthas were minor -- the death knight had used the flat of his sword to strike her -- but she had some grievous wounds left over from her trek through Northrend.  One cut on her leg had grown infected, and her entire shin was misshapen and swollen.  He tenderly rubbed salve on it and kept a damp cloth on it to cool the burn of the swollen flesh, but she still needed the opium.  As an afterthought, he took a small bit himself, just enough to relax him.  It was better to be a bit high than to confront his current situation.

         She finally spoke to him a few hours later.  Her eyes were bloodshot with the drug, and her voice was lazy, but he could tell she was somewhat coherent.

         "Kael," she whispered.

         She lay on the bed, her hands folded carefully in front of her.  He had been sitting beside her, drinking his opium tea, but now he set it down and took her hands.

         "You're awake," he said.  Her hands were cold.

         "I should have stayed with you, Kael," she whispered, her eyes half-open.  "None of this would have happened."

         He didn't quite follow her logic.

         "It's okay, Jaina," he said quietly.  "None of this is your fault."  He mulled over the words.  Had Arthas said them out of love for the woman?  Was there still some good in him yet?

         She turned her drooping eyes toward him.

         "You were so right for me," she rasped.  "Why didn't my heart let me love you?"

         "It's okay, Jaina," he soothed.

         She stared at the ceiling, then her eyes slipped closed.  "You were the best lover I ever had, you know."

         Kael blinked; he turned quickly to Illidan, but his master was fast asleep in the bed across the room.  His pride fuelled his curiosity, and against his better judgment he asked, "But what about Arthas?"

         "Arthas," she sighed, and her eyes opened to show that they were full of tears.  "Sex with him was incredible.  Passionate.  Violent.  Overwhelming.  But on a purely physical level, from a purely objective standpoint, you are the more skilled lover."  She smiled dopily.  "I thought you should know that."  Her eyes closed, but not before a tear trailed down her cheek.

          He stroked the tear away with the back of his knuckle.  "Maybe you shouldn't be talking right now, Jaina," he said delicately.

         "I still love him, Kael," she sobbed.  "I still..."  She rolled onto her side and curled into a ball, her shoulders heaving.  "Even after all he's done...why can't I accept that he's..."  She trailed off in wails.

         Kael bent down to press his ear to her shoulder, his arms draping awkwardly around her curled form.  His eyes slid closed as the scent of her skin reached his nose, and feelings he had long ago forgotten began to kindle in his chest.  Compassion.  Sadness.

         Her sobs gradually slowed into sniffles.  He ran his claws gently across her back through the thin fabric of her shirt.

          "Hold me, Kael," she whimpered.

         He sent another tentative gaze at Illidan then, certain the other wouldn't wake, pulled back to unbuckle his mantle and remove his cape and mail.  He slid under the covers wearing just his silk robes.  She buried her damp face in his chest, her hands clawing at the fabric, and he wrapped his arms around her.  His chin rested on the top of her head.

         Her hand suddenly darted down to his groin.  He hissed and pulled back to catch the wrist.

         "Jaina," he said, surprised.  She looked up at him for a moment, then began to weep again and buried her nose in his chest.

         Kael gently placed her hand on his shoulder and gathered her close.

         "It'll be okay," he whispered, wondering why the warmth of her hand at his crotch no longer excited him the way it once did.

 

 

**_____________________________**

**FUTURE SCENE**

 

         She awoke shortly after midnight and buried her face into the warm fabric in front of her face.  She recognized the scent; Kael.  Her eyes widened and she pulled away; her movement woke the man from his restless sleep.  His eyes parted and he jerked violently, then his eyes softened as he saw her.

         "How are you feeling?" he whispered.  Jaina's eyes slid closed; his rumbling voice vibrated through his chest.

         "Sad," she replied, and she clutched at his shirt and rubbed her nose into his chest.  The movement was so childlike and innocent that he was immediately taken back to the day he had first met her.  Something akin to a purr left his throat; he nestled against her and pressed his nose into her hair.  Even greasy and unclean, she smelled delicious.

         "I'm sad, too," he said softly, his tone slow, as if he were talking to a child.

         "You're addicted to the fire magic, aren't you?" she whispered.  His muscles tensed with surprise; she must have noticed, for she explained, "Maiev told me about your pact with the demons."

         Kael sent a tentative look at Illidan's bed; the enormous night elf slumbered peacefully.

         "I'm ashamed, Jaina," he whispered.  "I only meant to help my people, but I have led them to these depths.  We are a ragged, dying group, and I'm certain these aren't the lowest depths we will sink to."  Tears began to trail down his cheeks; he let them fall into her hair.  She snuggled against him.

         "I can help," she whispered.

         Kael snorted; he didn't intend to be rude, but his temper was so quick lately...  He pulled back and ran a clawed finger along her forehead.

         "No one can help, Jaina."

         She lifted her chin with some difficulty -- her neck was still bruised and stiff -- and focussed her glowing blue gaze on him.  "I can help," she insisted.  "The night elves have access to moonwells, which mimic the powers of the Sunwell, only they aren't addictive.  I can siphon this magic into your body at controlled doses every day, gradually lowering the doses until you recover completely."

         Kael stared.  "That won't work," he said, a bit of irritation showing in his voice.  She recoiled a little.

         "Kael," she whispered, "I've already lost so many people I love to the darkness.  Don't make me give you up, too.  Come back to Kalimdor with me.  Let me help you."

         He hesitated; his lips curled into a deep sneer.  "My people would never stand for it, Jaina," he growled.

         "Your people await you in Kalimdor, Prince Kael," she insisted.  "Mina is there, and Loti.  And Kalnaka.  They all send their regards."

         Kael bowed his head.  "Give me time to think this through, Jaina."  Already, he knew his answer would be no.

         "Okay," she whispered; her hands tightened into the fabric and she nestled into his chest again.  The weight of the recent events suddenly came crashing down on her again, and she began to sob into his chest.  He began to sing a low, soft lullaby in Elvish.  She didn't understand the words, but the words were soothing, and his rumbling voice was pleasant, if a little rough.  Her tears eventually slowed, and she pulled away; he handed her a handkerchief and kissed her forehead again.  She nuzzled beneath his chin. 

          "What did that song mean?"

         "It doesn't translate very well," he murmured as he sought the translation.  " _Rest your head and be at peace, for now another moon is born / do not fear, I will see you in our dreams, though we may not remember / and when you wake, I'll hold you tight and together we shall see the sun born anew._ "  He smiled, a bit shy.  "It sounds better in Thalassian."

         "It's pretty," she whispered, and her voice was so sweet that he suddenly wondered if he would end up back in Kalimdor again after all.

 

 

 

**_____________________________**

**FUTURE SCENE**

 

 

         Kael awoke early the next morning.  Jaina's skin was cool and soft; her breaths were even.  He slid out from the blanket and began to refasten his armour.

         "Kael."

         The voice was deep and rumbly; the blood mage turned to see Illidan's glowing eyes from the corner of the room.

         "Master," he said, and he hurried to the night elf's side.

         "Don't call me that," said Illidan gently in Elvish.  "You may have pledged yourself to me, Kael, but we are equals."

         The blood mage dropped his chin in a respectful bow.

         Illidan turned to stare at the ceiling.  "The human.  You love her, don't you."

         "With every ounce of my soul," said Kael; immediately, he wondered if it was true.  "At least, I did, but now I can't seem to feel anything but anger."

         Illidan coughed, then shifted to sit up.

         "Master," said Kael quickly, "you shouldn't move."

         The night elf raised an eyebrow that showed he would move if he damned well wanted.  He adjusted the pillow behind himself.

         "Young Kael," he said, "I once gave up the woman I loved for the magic I crave.  I have never, ever forgiven myself.  If this woman says she can cure you -- and she does have an incredibly powerful aura -- you might be happiest if-"

         "I am happiest with magic," said Kael stoutly.  "And with my people.  They would never leave their homeland on an empty promise."

         Illidan sighed; he cupped a clawed hand to the other's face.  "Kael," he whispered, "You don't belong with the demons."

         The prince stared; the words were delivered with the same tone Arthas had used.  His jaw trembled against his master's hand -- or was his master's hand trembling against his jaw?

         "You are a good, pure soul, Kael," he murmured.  "You are remarkably dedicated and committed to your people, and to me, and I have nothing but gratitude for that.  You are my dearest friend.  But you deserve happiness, and for you, happiness lies with that woman."  He nodded in the direction of Jaina.  "I saw it in your eyes whenever you spoke of her.  I saw how tenderly you hold her, as if she were your child and you, her mother.  There is something true and honest there, something that I will not see you give up."

         "But what of my people?" asked the prince; he was surprised to find that his eyes were watering.

         "Take those who will come with you.  The rest will be treated with the utmost of respect.  I will always consider you a friend, Kael, and should our paths ever meet, you will be treated as such."  Illidan smiled fondly.  "I see in you a part of me that died long ago.  I wish it hadn't, and I don't want you to have the same regret."

         Kael bowed his head.  "Thank you, Master," he whispered.  He gripped the night elf's wrist and tugged the hand away, then placed a slow kiss to the knuckles.  "I will do as you ask."

         He turned back to Jaina; Illidan watched as the blood elf tended to the woman.  A smile slid across his lips and he blinked back tears as he saw what he could have had with Tyrande, but had given up so long ago.

 

 

**_____________________________**

**FUTURE SCENE**

 

 

         Jaina gratefully accepted the tea that the priest had prepared.  Kael watched nervously, his eyes darting to watch every movement she made.  His concern must have showed on his face, for she put her hand to his cheek.

         "I'm fine, Kael," she murmured.  Indeed, her wounds had mostly healed; the naga were making arrangements for a ship to escort her and Kael back to Kalimdor the next morning.

         "I spoke with the others, Jaina," he whispered.  "No-one will come."  It had been a frustrating meeting that had him in tears.  He knew he was responsible for reducing the elves to what they had become; he prayed they would come with him and fight for a cure to their addiction.  None among them was ready to give up their newfound source of magic.  After a long, fruitless argument, he had left Eldin in charge.  It broke his heart that they wouldn't follow him.

         Illidan hadn't been surprised.  "Their hearts aren't as pure as yours, Kael," he'd said gently.  "They have been consumed by the thirst, just as I have and just as Dath'Remar was before you.  Do not think of staying, for it will consume you, too."

         That had been their last conversation.

         She lay her hand on the bed, palm up; Kael pressed his hand to it and laced his fingers through.

         "They have made their choice, then," she whispered.  "Their fates are their own."  She raised a pointed eyebrow; Kael sighed.  He would never have a clean conscience about what he had put his brethren through.

 

(Kael stayed with his people)

 


	21. BONUS FEATURES: Book III Future Scenes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Book became very clearly Kael x Jaina, and also added an unexpected pairing into the mix.
> 
> I was undecided if I was going to continue with this, or end the story with Book II. I wasn't comfortable with the idea of Jaina rebounding back to Kael just because Arthas was dead. I was, however, interested in her learning to love him after a great deal of time had passed. Their whole relationship was heavily inspired by Love in the Time of Cholera, with the idea of old love blossoming again later.
> 
> So, this is a possible ending for the story, but wasn't 100% set in stone. Consider it a Director's Cut and accept or dismiss it as you see fit. :P
> 
> It jumps around a bit, but I didn't put any scene breaks in. Sorry in advance.

 

**BOOK THREE**

**The Tale of**  
 **Kael and Jaina**

(I had a whole long section written, but I can't find it!! Kael succumbed to his thirst for magic and became nearly feral, and it drove him south. He ended up in Kalimdor and attacked a young elf made, killing her to steal her magic. Once his magic lust had calmed, he realized what he had done to someone who had once been his subject. Ashamed and horrified, he went to Theramore desperate for Jaina's self. He was a husk of himself when he arrived. He stayed with Mina while Jaina gave him daily music infusions to help with the withdrawal, tapering over a long period of time.)

___________

(After being in Theramore for awhile)

 

            It was around this time that Jaina finally admitted to herself that she was in love with Kael.

            At first, she had put it down to the fact that she was on the rebound from Arthas.  It made sense that she would look to Kael; he was her best friend, he was attractive, and they had a past together.

            As time passed, however, she began to recognize that she was only falling more and more in love.  She began to blush when she heard his voice; her heart raced as she caught sight of his blond hair from down the road.  Their therapy sessions together took on special meaning; she often spent time massaging his face before the magic infusions.  She'd lay his head in her lap and rub firmly down his temples to his jaw -- sometimes, if she felt brave enough, she'd do his shoulders, too.  Their sessions had become a daily ritual; he would bring over his old texts from the Kirin Tor, and they would do research together after his infusion.  Her theory was that it would be easier for him to give up the fire magics if they replaced it with desire for the safe ice magics.

            Kael didn't seem to notice anything unusual about the affection; of course, he was rather pre-occupied with his recovery.  Withdrawal from the magic turned out to be a difficult process.  Many nights he would pound on her door drenched in sweat, his eyes glowing orange.  She'd open the door and he'd fall into her shoulder sobbing.  Usually, she'd set up a bed for him on the couch and sit with him until he fell asleep.  One night, she led him to her bed and held him until morning.  Their contact was completely platonic, like a mother to a child, and she would have done so had she been in love with him or not.  That had been the only night he had talked about giving in, about returning to Quel'Thalas and letting the magic overwhelm his soul once more. 

            She knew it was difficult for him to think of the people he had left behind, but he set about overcoming his addiction with such determination that she began to see him in a new light.  The Kael that had bowed to other's whims was dead; now he was determined to take care of himself.

            And so she fell in love with him all over again, as if she'd never known him before.

            Her growing love didn't mean that her heartbreak over Arthas was healing.  She still stubbornly kept the shrine for him behind her house.  The rosebush kept dying; the irony didn't elude her.  It was easier for her to forgive him now that she knew he had just been doing what he believed in -- the fact that she forgave him so easily made her ill.

            She still passed many nights playing "what if"s through her head.  There were an endless number; things could have turned out differently, no matter what Arthas thought.

            She knew it was ridiculous to run these things through her mind.  But it was the only thing she could do.

 

 

            Kael, on the other hand, grieved the fact that his love for Jaina was dead.

            No, that wasn't exactly accurate.  He still loved her, and he always would, but his taste of demonic magic had so clouded his soul that he was unable to love anyone or anything.  As the magic infusions tapered, his withdrawal grew worse.  He hid it from Jaina as best he could, even when every cell in his body screamed at him to return to his brethren and rejoice in the magic of Kil'jaeden.  Only on rare nights, when the pain was unbearable, did he end up at her doorstep.

 

 

            One year to the day that he had set foot in the lands of Kalimdor, he spent a restless night tossing between sweaty bed sheets.  He would have continued to do so until it was time for his magic infusion later that morning had Mina not knocked on the door.

            As she entered, the look on her face showed that she needed to talk -- presumably about Eldin, as usual -- but it faded to horror as she saw him.

            "Kael, honey," she murmured, and she glided across the floor to sit in a chair across from him.  His cheeks were gaunt and glazed with sweat, and puffed with each breath he took.  His hair was limp and stringy, and his eyebrows sagged in a manner that would have been comical if she weren't worried for him.  He was naked to the waist; his chest and torso were slick, and she noted with worry that he was losing a lot of weight.

            Kael hunched forward and pressed his hands to his temples.  "It's overwhelming me, Mina.  I can't do this.  Why did I come here?  For a woman I can't love, who won't love me back?"  His jaw trembled; she had never heard him so frantic.  "Every day, I ache and hunger and long for the magic.  I'm so exhausted; it's such a struggle.  I don't want to keep fighting."

            Mina sighed and stared at him with pity.  Here she was, self-absorbed because of loneliness, while her best friend was going through hell.  She bent forward to kiss his forehead.  He didn't stir.  The woman closed her eyes: Kael smelled like Eldin...

            "I'm so tired," he sighed, lifting his head.  He was surprised to see tears in her eyes.

            "You feel alone," she whispered.  Her hand ran along his jaw.

            A tear leaked down his chin.  "So alone."  He stared into her eyes, overwhelmed by the pity he saw there.

            She bent to kiss his mouth; the movement startled him, and he jumped.  His hands pawed at her front to push her away, but he changed his mind as his palm accidentally pressed to her soft breast.  His mouth parted; she slid onto his lap.

            By the time she began to kiss along his neck, he had scooped one arm around her lower back.  As she kissed along his shoulders, his claws had tightened gently into the fabric of her dress and she felt them prick skin.  She cried out and rubbed her body along his, frantic; Kael closed his eyes and let out a soft, slow hiss.  His hands clamped firmly onto her rounded hips and he began to thrust.  His head lolled backwards; Mina watched through half-slit eyes as his lips flared, revealing clenched teeth.  She recognized the facial expression from Eldin -- even if she hadn't, his tense muscles and the rock-hard lump beneath his robes made the situation apparent.  She slowed her movements lest she trigger his release too soon and pulled away.  Her hand forced itself between their torsos; she yanked his robes off of his waist and his erection sprang free.  He hiked up her skirts and was vaguely surprised that she wore nothing underneath.  His warm palms rubbed frantically against her smooth backside as she pressed down into his lap.  She was tight and warm; he hissed.  Mina wrapped her arms around him; her claws dug into his shoulder blades.

            It had been so long since he had known the warmth of a woman that, even with the utmost of restraint on his part, their encounter lasted less than a minute.  Kael gasped and pressed his face into her neck as calmness flooded his body for the first time since the destruction of Quel'Thalas.

 

 

            As he came back to himself he realized that he was so used to sleeping with Kalnaka that he hadn't remembered to pull out.

 

 

            Kael swore under his breath.

            Mina stood and didn't look at him as she fumbled through her robes for a handkerchief.  Kael leaned forward and raked his hands into his hair.

            "I'm sorry, Mina," he said, aware how inappropriately light the words were.

            "You are pathetic," she said after a moment; she threw the handkerchief to the ground and sat on the bed beside him.  Her voice quivered.  "Pathetic..."  She trailed off and hugged her arms to her chest.

            Kael didn't look at her.  His shoulders heaved as he tried to get his breath under control.  At last, he lifted his head.

            "Go see Lotimara," he said quietly.  "The priests have some contraceptive medicines."  She could tell by his expression that he felt terrible; her face softened.

            "It's okay, sugar," she said.  "Don't feel bad.  It's okay.  We just got carried away.  Just once.  Nothing will happen."

            He wondered who she was trying to convince.

            "We got a little excited," she murmured.  "We were lonely.  That's all.  These things happen."

            Kael let out a long sigh; he stared at his feet.  "We were lonely," he repeated.  "Is that what that was?"

            Mina fell silent.

            "You were pretending I was Eldin," he hissed softly.

            She bowed her head.  "Kael..."  He waited for her to explain it away, but she didn't.

            Well, he reflected, he deserved as much.  That was exactly what he had done to Kalnaka for years.

            "I see."  He stood and began to gather his books before she could see the tears on his cheeks.

            "Honey," she began.

            "Don't bother.  We were lonely, and that's all there is to it."  He slid the books under his arm and dared to look at her; her eyes were damp.

            "Go see Loti," he said, somewhat curtly.  "I have to go."

            "Sugar, wait," she said, but he walked through the door without looking back.

 

 

            Mina had awakened something deep within Kael that he always thought had been lost forever.  And now, as he walked to Jaina's house, he was overwhelmed with desire.  He had forgotten how warm women were; how he missed that warmth.  The scent, the sweet, musky fragrance of their groin.  The delightful tremble of thighs around his body. 

            Maybe she hadn't wanted him for who he was, but now he remembered what it was like to gaze upon someone who desired him.  Now he remembered the frantic lovemaking that accompanied shared longing.  And, as always, he associated these sensations with the woman who had only given them to him once, so many years ago.

            As Jaina opened the door, Kael stared, seeing her as he once had.  He wanted to run his fingernails down her narrow cheeks to her neck and nestle his fingertips in the cleft between her collarbones as his tongue ran lazily around her petite ear -- ah, how he loved the tiny round ears of humans.  He longed to see her square, blunted fingernails trace the tattoos of his body -- how would she react? -- and watch those eyes with the enormous pupils as she gazed tenderly at him.

            Now, those eyes narrowed, as if she could see exactly where he had been a few moments earlier.  Shame overcame him; he dropped his chin.

            Jaina's throat tightened, but she led him into the room and sat him on the bed for his treatment.  Her muscles were tense as she pulled his head into her lap, and her hands didn't take the time to massage the tension out of his face; they went straight to his temples.

            "Close your eyes," she commanded.

            "Jaina," he began.

            She silenced him and began the flow of magic.  The anxieties in his stomach began to quell, and he let out a low sigh.  The doses were getting very low now, and the sessions always ended before he was ready to finish, but the few seconds where she transferred the magic were still unmatched bliss.

            "Did you have a good night?" asked Jaina finally; her voice was clipped.

            Kael closed his eyes and his mouth tightened.  "Not really, no."

            She finished the treatment and drew away before he had time to properly remove his head from her lap; he caught himself before he fell into the mattress and stood.  She sat in a chair at the table, her back to him, and folded her hands on the oak surface in front ofher.  Kael watched; her message was clear.

            "Am I to understand that you don't wish to study today, Jaina?" he asked needlessly.

            "I'm sure you have better things to do," she said without turning around.  "Good day."

            Kael sighed and sat on the bed; he was already starting withdrawal, and his head pounded. 

            "I have had a difficult morning, Jaina," he said tersely.  "I don't appreciate an unprovoked cold shoulder."

            Jaina turned in her seat so that she faced him.  "You reek of Mina's perfume, Kael."

            The prince was silent.

            "It was a temporary lapse in judgment," he said finally.  "I was lonely."

            "I thought you were unable to even feel arousal anymore," she said, not bothering to disguise her hurt.

            Kael stood; his hands balled into fists.  "You have some nerve," he said quietly.  "You forsake me for my worst enemy -- for the world's worst enemy! -- and use me as a shoulder to lean on only when it's convenient for you, then the instant Arthas is out of your reach for good, you turn back to me and expect me to be waiting for you?"  His sneer was so deep that his nose was wrinkled; his chest heaved.  "You are a selfish woman, Jaina."

            "You said you'd always be waiting for me," she whispered, and her chin dropped.  She closed her eyes; this wasn't how she had meant for any of this to come out.  It didn't help that when Kael was angry, he reminded her of Arthas...

            Kael sighed; he picked up his books and slid them under his arm.  "Things are too complicated now, Jaina," he said.  "It's too late."  His head bowed.  "I should go."  His tone was curt.

            As he left the room, Jaina dropped her face into her hands.

 

 

            He didn't show up for his infusion the next day.  She knocked on the door to his house; there was no answer.

            "Kael," she called, and she opened the door.

            The elven prince sat on the bed, his head bowed.  He looked so much like Arthas, back when she had come to apply salve to his scratches, that her heart broke.  She sagged to her knees.  He made no move to acknowledge her presence.

            Jaina choked back her sobs and shifted to a seat on the dirt floor.  She cradled her knees to her chest and rocked slightly as she looked across the room at the elf.

            "It's not getting any easier, Jaina," he said flatly.

            She wondered if he meant as a statement about his struggle against addiction, or a question about her love for Arthas, or question about their friendship.

            "No," she murmured.  It was an appropriate answer to all three.

            "Why Mina?" she asked after a moment.  Her voice cracked.

            "Because she has terrible timing."  Kael sighed.  "As do I."

            "I think we all do," she whispered.

            "All?" asked Kael, confused; he looked up at her for the first time.

            "All of us.  Everyone.  You and I chose a bad time to fall in love with one another.  Arthas and I fell in love at the wrong time; we chose a bad time to end that love.  Uther and King Terenas chose the wrong time to let Arthas have some independence.  Arthas chose the wrong time to seek vengeance against a demon."  A tear trickled down her cheek.  "My father chose a bad time to come to Kalimdor.  I chose a bad time to seek out Arthas."  She whispered the last words.

            "It would have been easier for you if you hadn't seen Arthas one last time, wouldn't it?" murmured Kael.

            "But if I hadn't, I wouldn't have run into you," she replied softly.

            Kael bowed his head, unsure of what to say.

            "You're right," murmured Jaina, dabbing at her eyes with her sleeves.  "It is too late.  Things are much too complicated."  She stretched out her legs; they looked unnaturally short against the empty expanse of dirt.

            Kael's jaw quivered.  He wanted to tell her about how his encounter with Mina had ended -- he needed someone to reassure him that it would be okay, that nothing would happen from that mistake -- but he didn't want to hurt her even more.  He watched as she stared at her legs; her expression was so sad that he sighed and moved to sit beside her.  His arms wrapped around her torso; she leaned into him.

            "Do you love her?" she whispered.

            "No."  Kael's voice was as gentle as his embrace.

            "Do you love me?" asked the woman, her voice almost too low to hear.  He let out a soft sigh and buried his nose into her hair.

            "Jaina," he murmured, "the instant my heart allows me to love again, I will run to knock at your door -- even if it's the middle of the night -- and get on my knees and plead for you to take me back.  There will be tears streaming down my cheeks and I will be the most sorry, bedraggled figure you have ever set eyes on.  I only hope that you will forgive me for forgetting how to love for so long, and will pity me enough to take me into your arms."

            A soft puff of air left her nose as she smirked at the image.  He smiled, too and closed his eyes as his nostrils drank in her scent.

            "When will that happen?" she whispered.

            Kael hesitated.  He wanted to tell her now; he wanted to lay her down on the dirt floor and make love to her.  If only he hadn't slept with Mina; if only she wasn't still in love with Arthas.

            "I don't know," he murmured.  "Perhaps never."

            "You're too stubborn, Kael."  She pulled away from him and dried her eyes.  "We should infuse your magic before you go into withdrawal."

            He didn't say anything, but he was constantly in withdrawal now.  He shifted to lay his head in her lap.  She stroked his forehead with her fingertips for a moment, then pressed into his temples and let the magic flow through them.

 

 

            Kael opened the door; it was Mina.  She didn't say anything, but her red eyes and trembling lip explained it all.  The prince sighed, then waved for her to enter.  He didn't speak until the door was closed behind them.

            "We must marry," he said softly.  He had spent plenty of time thinking about the situation, and this was the only solution he had come up with.

            Mina's eyes locked with his.  "Marry!" she exclaimed.

            "I won't have the future prince of our people brought up as a bastard," said Kael fiercely.  "Nor will I have you struggle to raise him as a single mother.  I intend to do the honourable thing."

            "But we aren't in love," whispered Mina.  In all the years he had known the woman, he had never heard this tone before: every ounce of her usual bravado had disappeared. 

            "My father always said that marriages work better without love to complicate it."  He looked her firmly in the eye.  "I think he's right.  We can have separate bedrooms and lovers and anything else you wish.  I will support you financially and morally, and help raise our child.  Other than that, you are free to do as you wish."  His eyebrows twitched as he waited for an answer; she stared, wondering what that expression meant.

            "But we'll have to consummate the marriage," she protested.

            "I don't think they'll be any doubt that we have already," murmured Kael.  "But if that's not the case, I hope I'm not so unbearable that you couldn't stand one more night with me."

            "Of course you aren't," she said.  Her chin dropped and her lip quivered.  "I was going to ask if you wanted me to abort."

            "Abort!"  Kael gripped her shoulders.  "Our race is dying, Mina!  We can't-"

            "It's okay, sugar; I don't want to, either," she interrupted gently.

            They were silent.

            "Well," she whispered after a moment, "it would be nice to be a princess."  A tear leaked from her eye.  "I just figured I'd be marrying Eldin, you know?"

            The prince sighed and gathered her for a hug.  He rested his chin on her head and closed his eyes.

            "Jaina's going to kill me," said Mina, somewhere between a sob and a chuckle.

            "Jaina is a rational woman," replied Kael; he gently rubbed the woman's back.  "She'll understand."

            The sorceress sniffled.  "You should know by now, hon," she said.  "No woman is rational when she's in love."

 

 

            He intended to tell Jaina immediately, but her face lit up as she opened the door, and she pulled him into her house and whisked off his cloak before he could say anything.  She led him to the couch and sat down; he lay across it, his head in her lap as usual.

            Her hands were soft and her fingertips were firm; the elf closed his eyes and a rumble of pleasure left his throat as his worries fled from his mind.  Her hands massaged in tiny circles at his temples.  As they worked their way to his jaw, he began to approach a warm, hazy state between sleep and wakefulness.  He would have drifted right to sleep if he wasn't determined to enjoy every moment of contact; it was a struggle to stay lucid, and his thoughts began to wander.

            Her fingertips stopped their gentle massage and brushed along his jaw line to his chin; they traced a gentle circle around it.  They hesitated, then ran along his lips before they dropped away from him.  She bent to kiss his forehead.  It was a long, breathy kiss, and she lingered, dragging her lips across the skin.

            When she pulled away, Kael's eyes were open.

            "Kael!" she exclaimed, jerking with fright.  "I..."  Her cheeks were a brilliant pink, and the muscle above her lips was vibrating.

            The elven prince sat up and blinked.  He wasn't sure what to say.  In the silence that ensued, his sensitive ears listened to the sand falling in the hourglass across the room.  He sat there, his back to her, and stared at the log wall of the cabin as he reflected that even after the gift of the hourglass, she was still always late.

            "I didn't infuse the magic yet," she whispered.  She pressed her back to the couch and put her hands palm-down on her knees.  His back offered no hint of what he was thinking, so she avoided looking at it by focussing on the ground in front of her.

            "Mina and I are marrying," said Kael softly.

            Jaina's head snapped up and she stared at his back.  His head had dropped, but he didn't turn to face her.

            "Why?" she asked; the word choked in her throat.

            "She's carrying my child," said the prince, his voice a whisper.

            He stared at the wall and listened for her reaction.  There were soft sobs, muffled; he judged she had dropped her face into her hands.  He couldn't bear to face her, so he stared at his hands.

            "I thought you didn't love her," rasped Jaina.

            "It isn't a question of love, it's a question of necessity," replied Kael.  He noticed that the red polish was chipping on his left thumbnail; he would have to touch it up.  He picked at it with his forefinger and bit his lip, determined not to weep.

            The woman buried her face in her hands again.  "Please leave," she whispered.

            He finally turned to face her; he hadn't had his magic infusions yet.  He was about to mention this when she lifted her head.

            "I'm sorry," she murmured.  "I almost forgot.  Here."  She dried her eyes with the back of one hand, then reached across to press it to his temples.  Kael caught her wrist and pulled her in close; his arms wrapped around her.  He pressed his nose into her hair and took a long, slow breath.  Jaina burrowed her face into his neck and slid her arms around his waist.

            "I'm sorry, Jaina," he whispered.  She smelled of lavender.  He closed his eyes and his lips parted to breath her in.

            "There are many types of marriage, right?" she replied; her voice shook.  She nuzzled her face into his neck.  "This...this doesn't make it any more likely that you'll be knocking at my door with confessions of love anytime soon, does it?"

            He rubbed her back and closed his eyes.  "I don't know."

            Jaina pulled away and lay her hands along his jaw.  His eyes were damp.

            "You are to be the maid of honour, if you agree," he said quietly.  "I can't go through this without you by my side.  Mina invites you to it."

            "Of course," she said, even though she knew it would be painful for her.

 

 

            Mina looked fantastic as she walked up the aisle.  She wore a long silk cream-coloured gown with bell sleeves, and a wreath of flowers was in her flowing red hair.  Her makeup was more tasteful than usual; he had forgotten how pretty she was without the normal overdose of eye shadow.  Her stomach bulged only slightly with their infant, and he had the sudden urge to stroke the soft bump.  Her eyes glowed a soft blue as she approached the altar.

            Kael straightened his shoulders and stood tall.  Mina approached and looped her arm through his.

            "You look fabulous, sugar," she whispered; her jaw trembled.

            "So do you," he replied honestly.  He gave a nervous smile, then they turned to the priest.

            Jaina stood beside them and bowed her head.  She bit her lip, determined not to weep.

 

 

            Kael looked desperately around for Jaina, but she had left the room.  He handed his goblet to Mina.

            "Excuse me," he said.

            "Sure thing, sugar," she replied smoothly, then she returned to her conversation.

            He found Jaina standing outside the doors; she leaned against the wall, her arms folded over her chest to fend off the chilly night air.  Kael moved to lean against the wall beside her.  She didn't look up.

            "Congratulations," she murmured.

            The prince smiled sadly.  "Thanks."

            The blonde turned to face him; her eyes drifted down his body.  "You look fantastic, Kael."  She had never seen him in pants before; they made him look slender and elegant.  His cheeks were tinged with a fine blush.  She had never known him to blush; presumably someone had rouged his cheeks for him.  Either that, or he was glowing with pride.  She gritted her teeth.

            "And you look ravishing," he murmured.  The woman bowed her head.

            "Mina chose this dress for me," she said softly.  "It's not something I'd normally wear."  She felt pretentious in the flowing silk and lace; she was looking forward to changing back into her cotton top and pants.

            "All the same, it looks exquisite." 

            They were silent for a moment. 

            Kael looked at her.  "I was going to ask you to dance, but I sense that you don't want to go back in there."

            "I sense that you don't want to go back in there, either," she replied, mimicking his tone and accent so well that he smiled.

            "You'd be right," he whispered, and his smile faded.  They were silent; Jaina watched him intently, tracing the profile of his nose and chin.  He really was amazingly handsome; why hadn't she noticed before?

            "Do you ever think back," whispered the woman, "to the last time you and I talked under the stars?  After the gala?"

            "Of course I do."  He folded his arms over his chest and tilted his chin to look at the moon.  "You took me by surprise; I expected you'd be as timid as you were when I first met you."  He chuckled softly.  She looked at him, surprised; she hadn't heard him laugh since long before she'd left Dalaran.  He sighed and a look of sorrow crossed his features.  "So many nights, Jaina, I lay awake wondering where we'd be if things had gone differently that night."

            "Well," she whispered, and a smile tugged at her lips, "I would have went to Dalaran, and we would have made love every night and studied every day.  It would have been frantic and glorious."  She hesitated; the smile shifted into a frown.  "We would have found out I was barren, so you would be forced to marry someone other than me, anyway.  Arthas still would have gone crazy, you would have stayed with your people while I fled to Kalimdor, and our situation wouldn't be too much different than it is now."

            Kael turned to focus his gaze on her.  "I suppose you're right.  But it would be nice to have had more than a year of making love to you somewhere in the middle of this mess."

            Jaina didn't say anything.  As much as she hated what her love for Arthas had put her through, she wasn't sure she would give up the chance to have been in love with him.  Her eyes began to water; she blinked back the tears.

            "Mina seems happy," she choked.

            "Yes."  Kael sighed and examined his claws.  They had been painted a deep violet for the wedding; he missed the brilliant red he was accustomed to.  "I suppose she's happy to be a princess."  He raised an eyebrow.  "Or perhaps I just remind her of Eldin."

            Jaina let out a slow sigh.  "Are you going to...sleep with her?" she asked.  The thought had been on her mind since she'd learned they were to marry.  She dabbed at her eyes again.  Kael looked away.

            "Well, we only need to once to consummate the marriage, and I think it's quite clear that we already have," he murmured a bit wryly.  Jaina couldn't hide a smile in spite of herself; a tear leaked from one eye, and she sniffled.

            "I'm in love with you, you know," she whispered.

            "You're in love with Arthas," he said softly.

            "I love you both, and he is gone," she murmured.  "He is a fantasy, an illusion; there is no competition there."  Her lips quivered and tears began to pour down her cheeks.  "My love for you is all there is left, all that is real, and I gave up the chance to have it so long ago."

            Kael let out a long breath of air and unfolded his arms as he turned to her.

            "I told you, Jaina."  He ran a claw along her chin.  "Things are too complicated now.  I don't think I can ever love again; I will only know sorrow, hatred and regret."

            Something inside of her snapped.

            "That's all crap, and you know it," she growled.  "The only reason you can't love is because you won't allow yourself to.  You think you have to spend the rest of your life mourning and brooding, but all you're doing is feeling sorry for yourself and cutting off everyone else."  She bared her teeth; he had never seen her so angry.  "And then you complain that you feel lonely.  Of course you're lonely!  You won't allow anyone else to be near you!"  Her breath came in gasps that made her sentences jagged.  "You aren't the only one who's alone, Kael.  You aren't the only one who has lost everything.  And for the record, you had no reason to give yourself to that slut Mina when the woman you love -- the woman who loves you -- would give you everything in a heartbeat!"  She thrust her face close to his.  "You and I could find happiness together, Kael, but you're so goddamned self-absorbed that you think you have to stay miserable!"

            Kael swallowed audibly and stepped away from her.  "I-I should get back inside," he said quickly; his voice caught in his throat.  "Goodnight."  He departed.  Jaina fell to her knees in the cold grass; tears dripped from her nose and chin.

            The situation reminded her of the dream she'd had long ago, the night after the gala.  For now, when she looked for Kael, he was gone.  The only difference was that Arthas didn't step up to whisk her away in a night of passion.  She was alone, and it was all her fault.

 

 

            "Kael!" said Mina.  "Are you alright?"  She hurried away from the group she had been chatting with and slid her arm around his shoulders.

            "I'm sorry," he choked.  "I'm a little overwhelmed."  He felt the urge to pace the floor, or perhaps punch something.  His hands shook as he grabbed one of the wine bottles from the table.  "I think I'm going to retire."

            "I'll come with you, honey," said the elf-woman.  She patted his shoulder, then hurried back to announce that they were departing.  They left the room to the shouts of well-wishers.

            They went to their new house.  He paced straight to his new bedroom and sat on the bed, then uncorked the wine with a claw.

            The brunette hesitated at the doorway.  "Can I come in, sugar?" she asked softly.

            He looked up at her and almost laughed.  "You're my wife now, Mina.  You can do whatever the hell you want around me."  He reached for the glasses on the bedside table with trembling hands.  Mina sat next to him, settling her hands neatly in her lap.

            The prince handed her a glass and raised his.

            "To Princess Bolomina Sunstrider," he said; his jaw quivered.

            "That sounds bloody strange," she murmured.  Their glasses clinked and they drained the ruby liquid.  Mina let out a low sigh of contentment.

            "This wine is spectacular."

            "Indeed."  Kael poured them each another glass, then stopped.

            "You shouldn't be drinking," he scolded, looking down at the bump of her stomach.

            "Oh, one glass won't hurt."  Mina shifted so that she lay on the bed.  She brought her arm to her forehead.  "I wish I could get drunk out of my head," she whispered, and her voice broke.

            Kael drained both glasses, one after the other, and set them on the floor, then moved to lay on his side beside her.  He rubbed her arm with one hand and looked her solemnly in the eye.  He looked as if he wanted to say something, but instead, he moved his hand to her stomach and gently rubbed it. 

            "I'm terrified," he admitted.

            "It'll be fine, honey," she said, regaining a bit of her composure.  "You'll make an excellent father."  She placed her hand over his; their fingers laced together.  The fit was surprisingly comfortable.  After a moment, she spoke again.

            "Are we...are we going to..."  She trailed off.

            "Yes, well," said Kael abruptly.  "We've already officially consummated, so it doesn't matter.  I mean, we could if you want, but it's not necessary."  He bowed his head and closed his eyes, letting out a low sigh as he steadied himself.  "Do you want to?" he asked.

            "Yes," she whispered, almost inaudibly. 

            When he didn't reply, she gingerly ran a claw down his long nose.  "Do you know how long I've been without a man, sugar?" she murmured.  "Do you know how many nights I've laid awake trying to remember what it feels like to have someone shudder with release in my arms?"  Her claw slid across his lips and down his chin.  "You felt so good in my arms," she whispered.

            Kael swallowed.

            "What about you, honey?  Do you want to?" she asked timidly.  Her claw slid into the cleft between his collarbones and traced up his throat.

            "Are you going to pretend I'm Eldin?"  His voice shook.

            "Are you going to pretend I'm Jaina?" she countered, and a hint of flirtatiousness found its way back into her voice.  He could smell her perfume; it smelled of freesia.  Strong and feminine.  His eyelids fluttered closed.

            "Well," he murmured, "I suppose it's okay so long as we're both honest about our intentions."  Blood was rushing to his groin, and he was desperate to forget his conversation with Jaina.

            "Our intentions are clear as a bell, sugar," she replied softly, then she leaned forward to press her lips to his.

 

 

            That night, Jaina tucked a pillow under her arm and lay it on the ground beside Arthas' memorial.  The rosebush was dead once again.  Maybe it was time to give up.

            She curled up in a foetal position next to it and ran her fingertips across the plaque. 

 

 

            It was nearing three o'clock that night; Mina and Kael lay side-by-side on the bed.  The candles that Mina had set out around midnight were dying, and the room was bathed in a lazy glow.

            Mina rolled to lay on her side and ran her fingers along the cleft down the centre of Kael's chest.  His eyes were closed, and he panted slightly for breath; there was a fine layer of sweat on his forehead, and his cheeks were bright.  At her caress, he rolled his head along the pillow and opened his eyes.  His gaze was calm, and his lips curled on the right side into a tiny smile.

            "This is strange," he murmured.

            "I know."  She rested her palm against the tattooed spiral over his left breast. 

            He shifted onto his side and laced his fingers through hers, then squeezed her hand. 

            "Sugar, you are fantastic," she said suddenly.  Kael dropped his chin, but not before she saw a proud smirk.

            "You aren't so bad yourself," he said bashfully.

            "But not as good as Jaina," she retorted, raising an eyebrow.  He looked up again to see if she was serious; she chuckled and ran a hand around his jaw.  "It's okay," she said.  "We both knew the circumstances going in."  She leaned in and pressed her lips to his nose, then pulled away a few inches.  "I've never...I've never been able to climax before."

            "Ever?" he asked, surprised.  She had seemed responsive enough.

            "No, I mean...during lovemaking."  Her cheeks turned rosy, and her eyes flicked down for a moment before she met his gaze again.  "If you ever see Eldin again, don't tell him I said anything."

            Kael wasn't sure how to respond.  "Thank you," he said finally.  She giggled and kissed his nose again.

            "You're so awkward, sparky," she teased.  She sat up.  "You hungry?"

            "A bit."  He sat up, too.  "You stay here," he said.  "I'll go get some tea."

            "Kalnaka said you like some tea and a pipe after sex," said Mina with a chuckle.  "If I'd known she wasn't pulling my leg, I would have bought some tobacco from her."

            "You and Kalnaka discussed..."  Kael trailed off.  "I don't know why I'm surprised," he muttered.

            "She also warned me that you would insist on watching my face very carefully as I climaxed, every single time," murmured the sorceress.  "Now that I see she's right, I wonder what this little personality quirk is all about?"

            Now his cheeks were dark.  He swung his legs to hang off the bed.  Mina moved to sit beside him; she watched him, waiting for an explanation.

            "Well?" she prodded, and he blushed.

            "A woman's orgasm is linked very strongly to their emotions," murmured Kael.  "More so than a man's, from what I understand.  If a woman reaches climax with me, it's because she is comfortable with me, because I have somehow awakened pleasure and trust in her.  So, I suppose in a way, it's a pride thing."  He chanced a look at her; to his surprise, she was watching with interest, so he continued.

            "I guess a lot of it, though, is just that I find the moment of orgasm in a woman so beautiful.  No matter how strong or sassy--" he paused to run a hand through her hair -- "every woman is in that moment weak and vulnerable.  There's something so beautiful in complete surrender, in the honest and helpless moment of release.  What's more, in every woman the sensations and chemical reactions are the same, but it's expressed in a different way; different muscles twitch and different sounds slide from the mouth.  Each woman's orgasm is as unique to them as their fingerprint.  In that moment, she is unable to avoid sharing herself with me -- her real, true, unbridled self -- in a way that no other woman possibly can."

            Mina stared for a moment, then laced her hand through his.  "I had no idea you were such a control freak, honey," she murmured.  He looked down at the junction of her hands.

            "I am a dark, twisted soul, Mina.  You knew that before you married me."  His upper lip lifted into a faint smirk.

            "So what is my orgasm like, then?" she asked, disconcerted but curious.

            "Your nose wrinkles," he said with a smile.  "I've never seen that before.  Your upper lip curls and your eyes screw up, as if you're in pain.  But the instant your release hits, your face relaxes; I can see your eyes rolling toward the back of your head under your eyelids, and your expression is perfectly passive and tranquil.  It's odd: most women's muscles tighten during that moment, but your expression is one of complete and utter relaxation."

            Mina raised an eyebrow.  "I think I'm scared of you now, sugar," she said flatly.  He chuckled and gave her hand a quick squeeze before he dropped it and stood.

            "I think I feel more awkward telling you all of that than I did making love to you," he murmured.  He caught his face in the looking glass, then stood before it.  There were several love bites on his neck.  His good humour faded and he stared.

            "What am I going to tell Jaina?" he murmured.

            The sorceress stood and wrapped her arms around his waist; she pressed her cheek to his shoulder blades.  "That depends," she said.  "What are you feeling?"  Her skin burned against his, and he restrained the urge to slip his eyes closed.

            "I don't know."  He stared at his reflection.

            "You wish it was her arms around you right now, not mine," said Mina softly.

            "Yes."  There was no point in lying.

            "That's fair enough."  Her voice was calm.  "I wish I was holding Eldin."  She shifted her bare breasts against his back.  "...but I must admit you're better in the sack, so I'm not going to complain."

            Kael sighed and dropped his chin.  "What are we going to do, Mina?" he asked.  "How is this marriage going to work?  Are we going to give ourselves to one another completely, or are we going to remain separate and celibate from one another?"  The way he saw it, there would be no in-between.

            "I'm okay with either."  Mina closed her eyes; she sighed.  "I should mention that I'm still emotionally on the rebound, and I'm afraid I could develop quite the crush on you if I let myself stay close to you like this."

            Kael had a nagging suspicion he knew exactly what she meant.

            They were silent.

            "If there was no Jaina," said Mina softly, "do you think you might love me?"

            "I don't know."  He hesitated.  "I think we're better off as friends."

            "That makes it pretty clear."  She smiled into his back and took a deep breath of his scent.  "Then I suppose I should start looking for a man.  Now that I remember what sex is like, I don't think I can live without it."

            "What of Eldin?" he asked.

            "He's never coming back," said Mina flatly.  "Perhaps I will build a little grave for him next to Jaina's grave for Arthas."

            "Jaina's grave for Arthas?" repeated Kael.

            "You haven't seen it?"  Mina hooked her chin over his shoulder to look at his reflection in the looking glass.  "Behind the oak tree near her cabin, the big one that looks as if it's two trunks twisted together.  She's kept it ever since we landed here."

            Kael looked down; his jaw trembled.  Mina sighed and caught his chin with her hand.

            "Okay, look, sugar," she said.  "As far as I'm concerned, it's still our honeymoon until dawn.  So let's spend the rest of the morning making love.  We'll forget Jaina and Eldin and have an amazing time."  She added a bit shyly, "If you really derive so much pleasure from watching a woman climax, I'd be more than happy to help you."

            Kael turned to face her.   "Let's get something to eat first," he murmured as he ran his hand down her cheek.

 

 

            Kael awoke around ten o'clock the next morning.  His cheek was pressed to Mina's breast; her hand was laced in his hair.  He gently pulled her hand away and lay it on her chest.  She didn't even stir.  He ran his hand along her side, then he turned and stood.

            He lingered in the doorway watching her for a moment.  Part of him wished that he had never met Jaina.  Mina was sexy and strong, and he knew her better than he knew himself; he could grow to love her if he had the chance.

            Jaina's cabin was empty.  He found her curled up on the ground near the oak tree behind her cabin.  A small twig was planted in the ground near her head.  He crouched beside her and noticed that her hand was pressed to a small plaque in the ground.  She barely stirred as he lifted it to examine the plaque.  Arthas' face stared up at him.  He shuddered.

            Jaina's eyes fluttered open; she blinked.  He ran a claw around her chin, and all thoughts of Mina fled from his mind.

            "Good morning," he whispered.

            Her eyes locked onto his neck; her jaw trembled.  He bowed his head as he remembered the dark marks there.

            "Come on," she muttered, and she stood.

            He followed her into the cabin, then sat on the couch.  Jaina disappeared into the bedroom and returned a moment later with a small brown pot.  Her fingers lifted his chin and she spread some salve from the pot on the marks.  It smelled minty, and it cooled his skin.  Kael closed his eyes; her fingers were gentle and soft.  When she was done, she screwed the lid back on the pot and slipped it into her pocket.  She looked down at her hands and swallowed against the growing lump in her throat.

            "You didn't have to do that," murmured the prince.

            "It was for my own sanity," she said; there was a growl to her voice that he had never heard before.  She sighed and shook her head, trying to rid herself of her anger.  "Let's just get this over with."

            "I don't love her, Jaina," he said, a bit more forcefully than intended.

            "I'm sure that will change once you make love to her enough," said the blonde.  Her brows dropped.  "Lay down."

            Her fingers pressed hard into his temples as she infused the magic; they were down to the last few units now, and he began to shiver, desperate for more after the flow ended.  Jaina pulled away; he sat up.  His biceps and thighs were twitching, and his vision was blurred.  He was dizzy and nauseous.

            "You should go.  Your wife is probably waiting for you," she said coldly.

            Kael let out an exasperated sigh.  "My wife and I are in a marriage of convenience.  She won't care where I am, nor who I spend my time with."  He rubbed his temples with the heels of his hands, and his vision began to clear.

            Jaina closed her eyes.  "Those love bites didn't come from a marriage of convenience, Kael."

            "No," he agreed.  "They didn't."  He bowed his head.  "Mina and I are both lonely, Jaina.  We are locked together by a future event that neither of us has the courage to go through with unaided.  We were desperate to console ourselves and each other, desperate to feel a physical union, to know we weren't alone."

            Jaina's stomach twisted; her lips curled into a sneer again.  "If that's supposed to make me feel better..."

            The elven prince shifted to fold his legs beneath him; he rested his hands folded in his lap.  "It was pure despair, Jaina.  Shared desperation.  Nothing more.  Ask Mina.  She'll tell you that I was most passionate when my eyes were closed, so that I could pretend I was with someone else.  She'll tell you who I wanted to be with, and who she was pretending I was."  His jaw trembled slightly.  "I care for Mina, Jaina.  I'm glad she's carrying my child, because of all the women I know who can bear child, she is the one I trust the most.  It's possible that if I hadn't known you, I could grow to love her, yes.  But that won't happen."

            "Why won't it happen?" she whispered, seeking verbal confirmation of what she thought he was trying to say.

            Kael sighed and buried his forehead in the palms of his hands.  "You're right, Jaina," he said.  "What you said last night was completely true.  I did bring all of this on myself, and I am afraid to be happy."  After a moment, he added, "And for the record, Mina is not a slut.  She has only slept with two men before me."

            "I'm sorry," she whispered.  "I didn't mean that."

            He didn't seem to hear her; he let out a long sigh.  "I could have come to you," he whispered.  "I could have let myself love you.  We could be so happy now, if I hadn't gone to her.  I suppose I just didn't want to burden you with what I've become."

            "I love what you've become!" said Jaina fiercely.   "Don't you understand, Kael?  This isn't me rebounding or falling back on old emotions because I can no longer love Arthas.  I have fallen in love with you anew, as if I never knew you before.  This you -- the one that has endured countless torment and still presses on, the one who has been my dearest friend for more than seven years, the one who puts on a brave face even as his insides are ravaged by withdrawal -- this is the you that I love.  Yes, we both have problems.  Yes, we're both vulnerable and weak at times, but so is everyone."  Her voice dropped to a whisper.  "I love you, Kael."

            The elf bit the inside of his lip; the woman slid closer to him.  She tentatively leaned her head onto his shoulder; he didn't pull away.

            "I'm scared you'll fall in love with her," she whispered.

            He jerked away to give her a hurt stare.  "Jaina," he growled, "I swore I would love you and only you for the rest of my life.  I do not make promises lightly."

            Jaina was quiet for a moment, then she asked, "How many lovers have you had since we met, Kael?"

            He wondered why she wanted to know, but didn't ask; he was aware that his last statement had been unnecessarily vehement.  She deserved a composed discussion. 

            "Two," he said softly.  "Mina and Kalnaka."

            Her head lifted abruptly and she stared at him, her eyes wide.  "Seriously?" she asked.  He nodded; his gaze was even.

            "I do not take love lightly, Jaina.  I only truly loved one woman before you.  We were together for nearly six years until she broke my heart."  He looked down at his hands.  "I fell for you harder than I fell for her, hundreds of times harder.  I can never love another now that I have known you."  He awkwardly fidgetted with the lacquer on his thumbnail.  "Though I will admit there have been times when I've questioned that; I thought for awhile I was in love with Kalnaka.  Then I realized that the only parts of her I loved were the parts that reminded me of you."  The lacquer was chipped; he picked at it with his forefinger.  "If I found myself falling in love with Mina, it would only be because I had found aspects of her that were like you."  The polish on his forefinger snagged on the tip of his thumbnail; now he would have to redo that one, too.  That was fine; he was sick of the violet.  "I cherish Mina, Jaina, but only as the dear childhood friend that she is.  She will always be second to you."  He let his hand drop and met her gaze again.  "I will not love anyone but you until the day I die."

            Her tears overflowed; she quickly dabbed at her cheek with her fingertips.  "Then why can't you be with me?" she whispered.

            He hooked a strand of hair over his ear and looked down at his claws again.

            "You say you love me," he murmured.  "You say your love for Arthas is just an illusion.  Why did you spend the night at his grave?"

            "You're jealous of a dead man?" she cried.  "Kael, do you not remember what you were doing while I was curled up weeping in the cold night air?"  She pointed in the direction of the grave -- or rather, she tried to, but her poor sense of direction had her pointing toward Kael's cabin.  He wasn't too overwhelmed by his confused emotions to note the irony.

            "You're grasping for reasons!" she accused.  "Why are you trying to push me away?"  Her nose and cheeks were red, and her skin was slick with tears.  He wanted to smooth his palm against them and rock her gently, singing a lullaby until she fell asleep.

            "I should go," he rasped.  He stood.  "I'm sorry, Jaina."

            "What's stopping you?" she pleaded.

            Now he did run his palm along her cheek; her eyes slipped closed.  He leaned close, and his voice was soft.

            "When you left me, Jaina, I fell apart.  I'm in no rush to have that happen again."

            "That won't happen again!" she said.  "I love you!"

            "That's what you said so many times in your letters," he whispered.  "Those words have lost all meaning."  His knuckle ran along her chin, then dropped; she opened her bloodshot eyes.  Her lip quivered; Kael took a step away from her. 

            "The day you prove to me that your love is unwavering as mine, Jaina, will be the day that I will allow myself to love you."

            He turned and walked to the door; his cape fluttered behind him.  She stared.  Her lips curled into a sneer, but she didn't halt him.

            The door slid closed.  She sank to a seat on the couch and stared at her hands.

 

 

            Mina was making some sort of omelet when Kael strode through the door.  She called a greeting to him without looking up.

            "I don't like eggs," said Kael.

            Mina raised an eyebrow as she turned to face him; she put her hands on her hips.

            "I haven't heard that tone in a long time," she said, unruffled.  "I presume I'm going to find you in the bedroom with your hand down your pants and two empty gin bottles beside you while you sing songs about how unfair your life is."  The other eyebrow rose to join the first.  "What happened this time?"

            He shot her an annoyed look and flopped onto a chair by the table.  Mina removed the pan from the stove and sat in the chair next to him.  Her hand rested upon his on the tabletop.

            "I guess she didn't take our little honeymoon too well."

            Kael stared at her hand; it was markedly smaller than his.  She had small hands for her height.

            Mina saw that he wasn't going to reply; she sighed and leaned back in her chair.

            "Kael," she said, "this time she wants you.  Better still: she's madly in love with you.  Just sleep with her and get all this ridiculous angst over with."

            "You don't think I'd really sleep with another woman while my wife was pregnant," he said tonelessly. 

            She crossed her arms over her chest.  "If you regret this, we can annul the marriage."

            He raised an eyebrow at her defensiveness; his lips curled into a smirk.  "On what grounds?  Non-consummation?"

            Mina sighed again.  "I'm serious."  She bit her lip.  "Kael, I'm happy with this arrangement.  I think I'm actually starting to look forward to having you around forever.  But if you aren't happy-"

            "You aren't calling me 'honey' or 'sparky' or 'sugar,'" he said, surprised.  She blushed.

            "Yes, well, I think we're beyond all that holier-than-thou maternal crap," she said.  After the night's activities she was in awe of the man; it seemed blasphemous to demean him with flirty nicknames.  ...Though now it was hard to be in awe of someone who was acting like a sullen two-year-old.

            "You still called Eldin 'honey' after you slept with him," he pointed out.

            "I wasn't carrying Eldin's child."  Her hand rested unconsciously on her stomach.  Kael shifted to sit beside her and put his hand protectively over hers; he kissed her shoulder.

            "Am I really ridiculously angsty?" he murmured.

            "Yes!"  She turned to glare at him.  "You'd be so much happier if you just gave in and threw her into bed for a good romp.  She could even move in, if you want.  We'll give you a room far from mine so she can scream and moan and everything else.  Just do something!"  She dropped her gaze to examine her fingernails.  "You're much more fun to hang around with when you aren't moping all over the place."  She put on a convincing pout that reminded him of Kalnaka.  The two were really spending too much time together.

            "Any new thoughts about names for the baby?" he asked.

            "Don't change the subject!"  She leaned away to eye him.  "Promise me you'll kiss her."

            Kael laughed.  There was something preposterous about his wife forcing him to kiss another woman the day after their wedding.

            "I'll talk to her," he murmured.  "Tomorrow."  He kissed Mina's temple.  "I'm going to study for a bit."

            "Wait up; I'll join you after I make this omelet."  She turned back to the stove.  "By the way, I know you don't like eggs.  This omelet is for me."  She raised an eyebrow.  "I may be your wife, but I'm not a slave."

            "And you can't cook."  Kael smiled and shook his head.  "Perhaps we should hire Kalnaka as a cook for us.  I'm sure she would like the money."

            "There's an idea."  Mina struggled to flip the omelet; it had stuck to the pan.  Eventually she gave up and scraped the half-burnt, half-cooked mass onto a plate.  She'd feed it to the pig down the street later.

            "Alright," she said.  "Let's go study."

 

            Kael found Jaina the next morning kneeling once more in front of Arthas' grave.  The twig that had been in the ground was gone; a small black mark suggested she had burnt it.  He wasn't sure if he should let her know he was there or not, but she turned around anyway.  Her cheeks were damp.

            The elf stood awkwardly a few feet away, watching her.  She pushed herself to a stand, one leg at a time, then moved to stand before him.  Her bloodshot eyes were narrow and her jaw was set.

            "You have no right to ask me to prove my love, as if you are some high, holy martyr who has been suffering for your love for all of these years," she growled.  "You sleep with my sister because she reminds you of me.  You sleep with our mutual friend and end up marrying her.  Do you realize how much these things hurt me?"

            Kael stared; his mouth parted slightly, as if sputtering for a response, but she cut him off.

            "Do you realize how hard it is for me to administer the magic treatments to you?" she said, her voice quiet.  "Do you know what the side effects are of having magic that powerful course through your veins when you're not accustomed to it?  After the first administration, I was vomitting so badly that I had to get some god-awful medicine from Loti that gave me a rash on my entire torso.  And do you know how hard it is for me to see you in withdrawal?  To see the proud man I love reduced to a blubbering addict?"

            Kael stared for a moment longer, then swallowed and bowed his head. 

            "Well, Jaina," he said, just as quiet, "if you were looking to make me feel guilty and selfish, you succeeded."  He squeezed his eyes shut, determined not to weep.

            Jaina sighed.  She clasped her hands in front of herself and stared at the ground. 

            "Why does this have to be so hard, Kael?" she whispered.  "Why can't we just be together because we're in love?"  Her voice wavered as she added, "Why can't you believe me when I say I love you?"

            "I do believe you."  He put a hand on her shoulder and pulled her into his arms.  She pressed her face into his neck as she had so many times before.  Kael's hugs were gentle and protective.

            "Jaina," he whispered, "you are the truest, most caring friend I have ever known.  I don't ever mean to take you for granted.  I'm sorry; I've been so self-absorbed ever since Quel'Thalas-"  He stopped.  "Ever since I got that bloody book."

            "I have been, too, for even longer."  She laughed into his shoulder, then let out a soft sob.  "We're a selfish, stubborn pair,Kael.  We've taken each other for granted for years."

            He rubbed his cheek gently along her ear.  "I love you, Jaina," he whispered.

            "I never doubted that for a moment," she replied; her shoulders began to tremble, and he wondered if she was crying.  A tear trailed down his own cheek. 

            "I don't know what to do now," he said.

            "I don't, either."  She pulled back and ran her hand along the side of his face.  "I'm not ready to forgive you for sleeping with Mina."

            Kael pressed his hand atop of hers.  "I understand.  If it makes you feel any better, we have come to agreement never to do it again."  He gave a sad smile; she mirrored it.

            "The instant you change your mind..." he said.  A slight tremble ran through his body at the prospect.

            "Is this you sobbing on your knees for me to take you back?" she asked.

            Kael put a claw beneath her chin and pulled her forward; he placed a soft kiss on her forehead.

            "Yes," he said.  "But I don't know if either of us is ready.  Perhaps we should return to things as they were until the situation changes."

            "Very well."  She smiled and dabbed at her eyes.  "These things do tend to happen suddenly, after all."

 

 

            Their friendship remained the same for several months.

            After two months, Kael's music infusions finally ended.  He went through such bad withdrawal in the beginning that Jaina had to call Loti for medicines, but eventually his body grew used to the idea of living without the magic.  Even the constant ache he had felt in the pit of his soul for more than two years now began to subside.

            Jaina continued to meet with him every day to pursue their magic studies; on days when Mina was feeling well enough, she would join them. 

            Mina's pregnancy had undergone a few complications.  Kael awoke one night and heard screams; he found his wife writhing on her bed.  He had rushed to Loti, who had summoned the other priests to help.  They managed to save the pregnancy, but Mina was confined to bed rest.  The sorceress was so stubborn that she had almost induced premature labour a second time.  Now Kael felt he had to watch her all the time.  The situation was so stressful for Mina that when she was in her seventh month, she decided to stay at her mother's house for a week or two just to give Kael a break -- and to escape his incessant worried gaze.

            He escorted her to the house early in the morning, and his brows never unfurrowed the entire ten-minute trip.  He wanted to stay to help her settle in, but the women promptly shooed him away.

            Mina gave him a kiss on the cheek before she pushed him out the door.  "Enjoy yourself, sparky.  Relax."  She raised an eyebrow.  "Maybe ask Jaina to spend some time with you.  You need to stop worrying.  Get laid and relax."

            "I'm not going to enjoy myself with another woman while my wife is carrying my child!" said Kael, offended by her statement on many counts.

            "Right."  She tapped his nose.  "Then at least make a nice dinner for her and make out a bit.  The tension between you two is starting to stress me out, and that isn't good for the baby."  She winked and slid the door shut.

            He knocked frantically at the door.  "Send word if you need anything!" he called.

            "You sound like your mother," came the reply through the closed door.

            As he teleported home, he considered.  It would be the eight-year anniversary of the day he had met Jaina at the end of the week.  Perhaps he would make a nice dinner for her.  As for the making out, that would depend on how things went.  He quivered a bit at the delicious thought, then scolded himself for being so horny.

 

 

            Kalnaka opened the door.  Her hair was still in a handkerchief, and she looked almost the same as she had the day he had met her.  Her figure was still perfect and her cheeks still glowed.  Her eyes lit up as she saw him, and she wrapped her arms around him.

            "Kael!" she cried; he hadn't visited in several months.  She grabbed his hand and pulled him into the room, then slammed the door.  "Come, I'll get you some tea and the pipe."

            "Uncle Kael!" cried Jessa; she launched herself at him before he even saw where she was coming from.  The four-year-old was growing phenomenally.  Kael smiled as she tackled his leg; he smoothed the hair from her forehead.

            "Hey, Jessa," he said with a smile.  "How are you?"

            "Go play in your room, Jessa," clucked Kalnaka.  "Uncle Kael and I have some talking to do."  She shooed the youngster away, then shook her head with a smile and sat down.  "Don't get that one started, Kael.  She'll talk your ear off before you know what's happened."  She leaned forward to trace up the border of one of his ears.  "Yes, even an ear this sizeable."  She grinned.  "Come on; sit down."  She patted the seat beside her.  Kael slid into it.  Kalnaka poured the tea and lit the pipe; she took a long draught of the smoke and then handed it to him.  Kael closed his eyes as he breathed in the smoke.  He tried to blow a smoke ring, but failed; he had never mastered the ability.

            "You know, it's strange," he murmured.  "The combination of your voice, the smoke, and the tea brings back sudden vivid memories."

            "Just be glad you aren't in the bath," she replied; she snatched the pipe from him and blew a smoke ring at his face.  "You know I'm always here if you ever get lonely, right?" she said softly.  He shot her a surprised look.

            "What about Shea?"

            "He won't care."  She smiled.  "But if the rumour mill has any truth to it, I hear you and Jaina are back together."  She winked.

            Kael smiled.  "Not yet.  But I need your help with that."  He folded his hands on the table.  "It's the eight-year anniversary of the day she and I met later this week.  Mina suggested that a nice dinner might be nice, but I can't cook to save my life."

            She chuckled; she had tried to teach him, once, and he had somehow set the stove on fire while boiling water.

            "Say no more," she said, and she knocked the ashes out of the pipe.  "I'll cook you a feast, then bugger off before I interrupt anything."  She raised an eyebrow.  "Unless you want two Proudmoores at once."

            "Maybe another time," said Kael dryly.  "Thank you, Kalnaka."  He leaned forward to kiss her cheek; she closed her eyes and smiled at the familiar scent of his skin.

            "I don't suppose you're interested in one last encounter, are you?"  Her eyes twinkled to show she was joking, and he couldn't hide a chuckle.

            "Your wit never fails, does it?" he murmured.  He kissed her cheek again.  "I'll send for you later this week."

            "Come back and visit," she said.  "The kids miss you."

***

 

            The whites of Jaina's eyes sparkled orange in the candlelight; her irises glowed blue.  Kael stared, transfixed.

            "You're so beautiful," he whispered; his palm cupped her cheek.  The fibre above her lip began to twitch.  He ran his thumbnail along it.

            "Two years ago, I never thought I'd see that lip quiver for me again," he breathed.

            "A lot can happen in two years."  Her eyelids were drooping, and her lips parted.  He traced her upper lip slowly with his claw, then the lower.  Now her eyes shut.

            "Main course," came Kalnaka's voice loudly.  Kael jumped; he leaned back into his seat.  Jaina's eyes parted, and she smiled as her sister placed a tray of noodles in the centre of the table.

            "Smells delicious," she said.  "What is it?"

            "Tortellini in seafood and white wine sauce," replied the other woman.  She set a bottle of white wine on the table, even though the other wasn't yet empty, then bowed.  "I will be back in a bit with dessert," she said, and she ducked from the room.

            Kael stood.  "Excuse me," he said.

            He pushed into the kitchen; Kalnaka sat on the counter.  She grinned.

            "Would you mind choosing better opportunities to present the food?" he hissed.  She chuckled and tapped his nose.

            "If I'd waited, you'd have made love to her on the table, and all the food would have been wasted."  She shrugged.  "Besides, there are plenty of oysters in that sauce.  They're potent aphrodisiacs, you know; it will make your night much more sensual.  Strawberries and chocolate for dessert.  She won't be able to keep her pants on."

            Kael stared for a moment, then sighed and turned back to the dining room.

            Jaina had poured him another glass of wine.  He swirled the glass then drained it; she rested her chin on her hand.

            "Why do elves drink wine like that?" she asked.

            He looked up, surprised.  "Why do humans drink the way you do?" he asked with a hint of a smile.

            "Fair enough."  She smiled, too, then lifted her chin and began to serve herself some of the pasta.  "We drink it slowly to absorb the full flavour."

            "Elves absorb the flavour, too," said Kael. "We swirl it around our tongues as we swallow.  As well, we swirl the wine before we drink it to release its fragrance.  Fragrance is very important to add to the dimensions of the taste."

            "You can smell it from arm's reach?" she asked.

            "Elven senses are far more heightened than human senses," he said without any arrogance.  "That's why the spells of invisibility are so ineffective against elves; we can always smell the caster even if we can't see him."

            She wasn't sure what to say to that; to be honest, the idea of his sense of smell being so strong made her a little self conscious about some of her body's natural odours.  She wondered back to the days where she had infused the magic for him, his head in her lap...surely she hadn't bathed every day beforehand.

            He must have caught her worry, for he said, "I am blessed, Jaina, for my heightened senses allow me to absorb every molecule of your pure, fragrant essence, even from a distance.  Your aroma is sweeter than any wine, and far more intoxicating."

            She giggled, embarrassed.  "Sometimes you're poetic, Kael, and sometimes you're a little strange."  He could tell by her blush that she had been pleased by the compliment.  He took a generous helping of the pasta and poured himself another glass of wine.

            "I really don't know a lot about Elvish customs," she said suddenly.  He smiled and raised an eyebrow.

            "Most humans don't.  If you like, I can teach you a few things."

            "I'd like that."  She smiled bashfully.  "I don't even know any Elvish."

            "Well, we'll start here, then."  He raised his glass.  _"En'doa na Quel'Thalas,"_ he said.

            _"En'doa na Quel'Thalas,"_ she repeated, mimicking the motion.  "What does that mean?"

            "It doesn't translate exactly, but it's sort of 'long live Quel'Thalas' or 'to the memory of Quel'Thalas.'"  He smiled sadly.  "It has many uses in Elvish: battle cry, toasting, greeting."

            "I'm not very good with languages; I'm sure I will forget," she apologized.

            "You memorize spells, don't you?  Languages are no different."  He took a mouthful of the pasta; it was delicious.  Jaina did the same.

            They chatted pleasantly throughout the meal.  Kalnaka appeared once to place fresh buns and another bottle of wine on the table.  Kael realized he was going through the wine a bit too quickly; he promptly slowed his pace.

            When they were pleasantly full, Kalnaka cleared the plates away and brought out the dessert.  She changed the candles to fresh ones, then smiled.

            "I will be leaving you two lovebirds alone," she said.  "Don't worry about the dishes; I'll come back tomorrow and tidy up."  She smiled.  "Goodnight."

            Jaina had flushed at the word 'lovebirds;' she chanced a look at Kael and noticed that he was equally embarrassed.

            "She's clearly the evil sister," said Kael; she chuckled.  She had never known him to joke.

            The dessert was a thick chocolate pudding with strawberries and fresh cream.  When they had finished, Jaina lay back against her chair with a smile on her face; her eyes slid closed.  She knew that Kalnaka had been trying to pump her full of aphrodisiacs, and it was working.  Her body was awakening; her skirts were damp between her legs.  She cast a lazy gaze at Kael and noted by his half-slit eyes that the food and the wine were having a similar effect on him.  His thick, plump lips were parted, and she vividly remembered how soft they felt in a kiss.

            "Kael," she whispered, "why are you doing this for me?"  She had almost said 'to me' in a slip of the tongue.

            The prince folded his hands and leaned forward.

            "Eight years ago to the day, Jaina," he murmured, "I tasted your lips for the first time."

            Her face was delightfully rosy.  "That long ago," she whispered.  "I remember it so clearly."

            He pressed his palms to the tabletop and stood, then paced towards her.  His eyes were shadowed by his eyebrows in the flickering light, and his eyes glowed softly.

            His palm was warm against her cheek.  He gazed into her glowing irises.

            "You are still the most beautiful young thing I have ever seen," he breathed.  "And I am still afraid to touch you."

            Her hand pressed to his, holding him against her jaw.

            "That moment," he continued, "when I ran my finger against your lips and you opened your mouth to me -- such an innocent gesture, but the warmth and the moistness you exposed was so deliberately arousing."  His thumb rubbed her cheek in a slow arc.  "I never expected you to be a virgin; I was convinced you were seducing me on purpose, as you had many men before."  He smiled.  "I suppose you are just my natural aphrodisiac, Jaina, because everything you did was perfect.  You couldn't have done a better job if you had years of sexual experience."

            "I don't know if I can live up to your expectations again," she whispered.  His hand began to tremble at the implication of her words; she clutched it tightly against her skin to steady him.

            "Jaina..."  His voice cracked and he held out his free hand.  She took it.  He helped her to a stand and his hand floated to her throat.  He undid the clasp of her cloak and slid it off of her shoulders.  Her shirt was thin, and he could already see her nipples jutting from it.  He pressed his palm to one of the breasts and gently sank his fingers into the soft flesh.  She caught his gaze; the muscle on her lip quivered.

            Kael slid his palm up the curve and gently raked the tips of his claws along the scooped collar of her shirt, delicately scraping the sensitive skin of her upper breast.  The claws walked to her collarbone and traced along it.  Even now that she was a grown woman, the bone was unusually slight and delicate.  He traced to her throat.  Her breaths grew heavy as the sharp nails traced her trachea.  They slid behind her ear and raked into her hair, and she was certain that he was going to draw her in for a kiss, but instead he stared at her, his lips parted.  Her eyes flicked between his as she tried to read his thoughts, but the glowing white didn't even give her a hint where his gaze was fixed, let alone betray any emotion.

            "After nearly eight years," she murmured, "you're still afraid of me?"

            "I will always be afraid of you, Jaina," he breathed.  His thumb grazed her earlobe, then he summoned his courage, bent down and pressed his lips to hers.  Warmth flooded her body and she pressed herself tightly against him; he gripped her lower back and held her close, desperate to meld into her.

            When he pulled away, her cheeks were damp.  No one had kissed her since Arthas, on the frozen slopes of Icecrown.

            "I'm sorry," she whispered, bowing her head.

            "Love doesn't always have to be happy to be beautiful," he replied; he planted a soft kiss to her forehead, then pressed his cheek to it.  He began to rock from side to side, more out of dizzy euphoria than romantic intentions.  She closed her eyes and wept into his shoulder.

 

 

            He didn't intend to do anything but pass the night with chaste kisses -- he was very conscious that she was still mourning for Arthas, and he didn't want to invade her privacy too soon -- but her persistent nibble along his neck was beginning to wear down his good intentions.  At last, he could stand it no more; he gripped her hand and led her to the bedroom.

            Kael started laughing when he stepped into the room.  Jaina was surprised; she hadn't heard him laugh before, in the years she had known him: the noise was soft, pleasant and understated.

            She moved quickly to his side and laughed, too.  Kalnaka had left dozens of candles dotted around his bed.

            "Subtle," she murmured.`

            "You know, it'd be easiest to light these with a fire pillar," said Kael innocently; she looked at him, surprised to hear him crack yet another joke.

            "I had no idea you had a sense of humour, Kael," she said.

            "It doesn't surface often; I usually prefer sarcasm.  I'm afraid I had a bit too much wine."  He summoned the benign fire bolt of the Kirin Tor to light half of the candles; Jaina worked on the other half.  When the last was lit, they stood before one another.

            Too shy to undress her yet, Kael sat on the end of the bed and pulled her onto his lap.  Their clothes were thin, and as they kissed Jaina tried to subtly shift her weight to properly centre the hard bulge beneath.  The movement sent shivers up Kael's spine and he grunted, his hands clamping onto her hips.  Soon they were grinding like teenaged lovers; their kisses grew frantic. 

            Jaina shyly realized her climax approached.  Her hands gripped his wrists and she stopped gyrating her hips.  Kael followed suit; he held a long breath of air, then let it out with a soft Elvish curse and bent to rest his forehead against hers.  Her rasping breaths were hot on his lips.

            "What now?" she rasped.  He pulled away to look at her; his claw raked a strand of hair away from her face. She smiled, her twitch still quivering -- did that muscle ever ache from over-use?

            "I don't mean to rush you, Jaina," he whispered, aware that the pulsing mound beneath her lap contradicted his words.

            "And I don't want to rush you," she replied, even though she did.  Kael stared at her for a moment; she gave a small smile and an almost imperceptible nod, then her hand ran down his abdomen.

            He urged her to stand and gently pulled her shirt over her head; he threw it at the door, far from the candles.  His hands pressed to her breasts.  They were still the largest breasts he had ever seen; soft, round and spry.  He bent to kiss the soft flesh, and she arched her back.  His tongue rasped along the top of one breast, then looped delicately around the nipple; his lips closed over it and he suckled.  Jaina dropped her hand between his legs and began to rub against the rigid erection with her palm.  The nipple fell from Kael's lips until he composed himself enough to continue.

            Jaina kept her eyes open so that she could watch him.  His eyelids were smooth and relaxed; his brows were furrowed just enough to leave a small pucker between them, but his forehead was unwrinkled and his jaw muscles unclenched.  She hadn't seen him so peaceful in years, even in his sleep.  He gently tugged the nipple with his teeth, and she heard herself groan.  Her eyes fluttered shut.

            Eventually he moved back up to her neck.  Her hands rose to the clasp of his cape and she unhooked it; the garment slid to the ground.  The woman pressed her hands to the skin of his abdomen beneath his shirt, and he hissed at its warmth.  She had missed that noise.

            They worked together to pull the shirt over his head.  Jaina stared at the network of tattoos the move revealed.

            "Kael!" she said.  "When did you get this done?"  She traced the spiral on his chest.  Its tail disappeared beneath his skirts; she wondered how far it went.

            "Shortly before we saw one another for the last time," he said; he tossed the shirt onto the mounting pile of clothes.  "It's a coming-of-age ritual, done after a certain number of moons after birth."  He wasn't ready to admit his age to her yet.

            "How old are you, Kael?" she asked softly; she'd always wondered.  He smoothed the hair from her forehead.

            "If I were human, I'd be about twenty-seven.  Seeing that I am now mortal, I suppose that's the age I will use."  He hadn't really answered the question, but she seemed satisfied enough; he kissed her forehead, then reached for the drawstring of her skirts; she reached for his.

            When they had disrobed, they stood before one another.  Kael pressed his hands to her shoulders and traced the curve of her ribcage and hips.  He hadn't seen her nude since she had reached womanhood, and he found her even more attractive than he remembered.  The curls between her legs were golden brown.  He wanted to nestle his nose in them and drink in her scent; humans were so soft and fuzzy compared to the hairless elves.  Eventually, however, his hands drifted back to her breasts and he squeezed them gently in his hands.

            She trailed her hands along his body, too.  His shoulders were broader than he remembered, and though his built was slender, he was well muscled.  His skin was pale and creamy, and she was amused to find that she was a bit jealous of his complexion. 

            They were both becoming aware that his bulging erection had grown flaccid.  Jaina pressed his hand harder against her breasts and leaned in to kiss him; her other hand dropped to grip his member.  She gently squeezed and massaged, to no effect.  After a few minutes, he pushed her away and bowed his head.

            "I'm sorry, Jaina," he whispered.  "I've waited nearly eight years for this moment..."  He had never known such humiliation.

            Though she knew most women would be insulted, Jaina was rather flattered that she had such a powerful effect over his body.  She cupped her hand to his cheek to let him know that everything was alright, then bent forward and pressed her tongue to the tattoo that roved around his right shoulder.  It was her intention to lick his skin and kiss him until he relaxed, but soon she began to obsessively trace each branch of ink.  Kael shuddered and watched, his eyes slit, as she crept around him, trailing her hot breath and saliva across his skin.

            The tattoo at his shoulder joined in his back with one that wrapped around his left arm; when that one ended, she went back to the junction and traced one that wrapped around his hip and into the spiral on his chest.  The last one trailed down his back and between his muscled cheeks before wrapping around his leg to the calf; it went right across his scrotum.  She traced it until this point with her fingertips.

            "This one must have hurt," she murmured.

            "Like hell," he said, his voice strangled at the contact.

            She pressed her tongue to his shoulder blade and trailed down, dropping to her knees.  He was shyly going to stop her from tracing the path, but he found himself unable to speak as her tongue rasped along his sensitive flesh.  He shuddered and let out something close to a yelp. 

            Jaina reached around to his front and found that she had succeeded in arousing an erection.  His little yelp, however, intrigued her so much that she decided to trace the route again.  He cried out and his fingers curled into his palms; his muscles grew tense.  Since she was obviously exploring new territory for him, she lingered and traced her tongue in slow circles.  His groans and hisses encouraged her to continue.  When he began to sway, she pulled away.

            "Do you like that?" she whispered, even though it was obvious that he did; his member vibrated in her hand.

            "Yes," he choked.  "Please...don't stop..."

            She gripped one cheek with her free hand and tensed her tongue, probing a bit.  When she traced the path her tongue had taken with her finger, he let out a groan so loud that she wondered if she had accidentally hurt him.  She pulled away.

            "Don't stop," he hissed, almost angry.

            "Just a second," whispered the woman.  She scurried to the pile of clothes on the floor and rustled for her cloak.  The small pouch with the little brown pots was safely stowed in the pocket.  She withdrew a pot and uncapped it, taking a tentative sniff to ascertain its contents.  Satisfied that it was the correct one, she took a generous dollop of the oily substance onto her finger, then returned to Kael.  He stood tall, wavering as he watched her.

            Jaina knelt before him.  Her arm reached between his legs; her hot breath began to condense on the tip of his cock.  He let out a sharp cry as her finger curved.

            "Is that okay?" she whispered tentatively.  He stood stiffly with his hips thrust at an awkward angle, and his breaths were tight, as if he were trying not to move.  He let out a small moan that seemed to signify agreement, so she pressed deeper.

            She wasn't certain what she was looking for, exactly, but suddenly he seized her shoulders; his claws dug into the skin.  She slid her lips around him, and he cried her name.  His cock was so turgid that it seemed to be warm steel.  Her finger sought the spot that had pleased him and, once she found it, massaged hard.

            Kael's body seemed to undergo a transformation.  His muscles strained beneath the skin; his claws curled into her flesh.  His eyes, which had been squeezed closed until now, sprang open, and he glared through her as if not seeing her.  He began to speak in Elvish, whispering at first, but then louder.  She didn't understand the words, but it was clear from the intonation that the words were incredibly vulgar and explicit.  She suppressed her gag reflex and took him in right to the back of her throat; he tossed his head back and his speech rose to a yell.  His hands raked into her hair.  She massaged harder, and his words grew disjointed by loud gasps.

            His orgasm began then.  He felt that she was drinking his soul -- or perhaps breathing part of her soul into him.  But where was she actually touching him?  It seemed there were millions of hands, massaging his entire body, inside and out, and every cell, every nerve was suddenly sensitive to sexual caress.  His cells coiled, ready to spring with release.  His voice seemed to fade as he was drawn into himself.

            The first pulse came from the perimeter of his body: the tips of his ears and his hair and his fingers and his toes.  The energy flowed from them into his groin and then exploded from it.  He screamed, then gasped as another pulse came.  It continued again  and again, each pulse just as excruciating as the last.  At last the pulses began to ebb; they faded into a low throb that continued for several seconds before fading entirely.

 

 

            Kael came back to himself laying on his back on the floor.  He was curled up, his abdomen tensed, and his arms and legs were clenched -- when had he lay down?  Lights flashed before his eyes.

            It was a few seconds before he was able to properly register his surroundings.  Jaina knelt between his legs, pressing his thighs spread with her elbows.  Her tongue still rasped circles around his receding member.  She watched him, her eyes gentle. 

            She finally released him and lifted her chin.  Kael tried to speak, but didn't have the energy; a whimper sounded in his throat instead.  His muscles relaxed and he sank to lay flat.  His mouth was still open from the screams. 

            Jaina crawled along his body and lay beside him.  She smoothed the hair from his damp forehead.

            He stared at her, his eyes watering, then began to sob.  She slid a hand under his neck and put the other on his waist and drew him to her.  He curled against her and clawed at her ribcage.  Tears slickened her breasts as he buried his face between them.

            Jaina pressed her cheek to his hair and began to sing the Elvish lullaby he liked. Despite her previous insistence that she was bad with languages, she remembered every word.  Kael's sobs gradually faded and he felt himself begin drift into a warm, dark place between sleep and wake.

            When she at last stopped, he opened his eyes.  They glowed a gentle blue, the pupils large and clearly formed.  She stared; the muscle above her lip jumped.

            "What is it?" he breathed, still unable to use his voice properly.

            "I haven't seen your eyes any colour but white for years," whispered Jaina.

            Kael raised a limp hand and pressed it to her cheek.  "Then that is my body's way of telling you that every last bit of suffering I've endured in the past seven years -- all of it -- was completely and utterly worth it," he whispered.

            Her hand curled into his hair and she pressed her jaw to the top of his head.  Now it was her turn to weep.  She knew in that moment that destiny had been trying to tell her, all along, that Kael was her soul mate.

 

 

            "Mina!"  Kalnaka opened the door early the next morning.  "Come in!"  She had expected the woman to still be at her mother's.  "What are you doing up and about?  Kael will-"

            "Kael doesn't have to know, sugar."   The elf cupped her growing belly with her hands as she waddled into the kitchen.

            "You're getting big," said Kalnaka as she rushed to put on the tea kettle.  "Do you think it might be twins?"

            "Lord, I hope not."  Mina flopped onto a chair and wiped the sweat from her forehead.  She gratefully accepted a cup of tea.  Kalnaka sat across from her and stirred some cream into hers.

            "Speaking of Kael, hon," said the elf after a moment, "I returned home from my mother's late last night to find quite the surprise awaiting me at the house."

            Kalnaka leaned forward earnestly.  "Did they?"

            Mina took a sip of the tea, then set the cup in the saucer.  She nodded, a smirk on her lips.  "I presume so, anyway.   Either that or he was talking dirty to himself as he whacked off."  She reflected that this was a viable possibility; it seemed an angsty, lonely, Kael-type thing to do.

            "Talking dirty?  Kael?"  The woman's eyes widened and her mouth dropped.

            "And how.  Lord, Kalnaka, you should have heard him."  Mina chuckled.  "I didn't know half of those words were in his vocabulary."  She took another sip of tea, then added, "I've never known a Sunstrider to even raise his voice, hon, and she had him howling like he'd gone mad."

            Curiosity overcame Kalnaka; she leaned closer.  "What was he saying?"

            Mina leaned in and began to whisper the translation of the phrases she had overheard.  The other clapped her hand to her mouth and began to laugh.  Soon they were both in giggles, their faces red.

            "My God, what was she doing to him?" exclaimed Kalnaka.  She had never gotten more than a few whispered words out of Kael in the five years they had carried on their liaisons, and there wasn't a lot of unexplored territory left.

            "Oh, I'll tease him incessantly until he explains the situation in detail."  Mina grinned.  "Perhaps I'll play the pregnant wife angle up a bit to guilt it out of him."

            "You're evil."  Kalnaka drained the rest of the tea and poured herself another glass.  "Well, Mina," she said, "where does this leave you?"

            Mina sighed, her smile fading.  "Well, I always figured it would happen sooner or later," she murmured.  "Perhaps I'll invite her to move in with us; I get the feeling that's the only way I'll ever see him."

            "Are you okay with that?" asked Kalnaka gently.  When the other didn't answer, Kalnaka took a long sip of her tea and stared absently across the room.

            "Kael's easy to fall in love with," she murmured.

            Mina raised an eyebrow.  "He was in love with you at one point, honey."

            Kalnaka waved her hand.  "Of course he wasn't.  He was in love with the parts of me that were Jaina."

            "And I'm in love with the parts of him that are Eldin," said Mina stubbornly.  She smiled and looked into her teacup.  "I'm thinking of swearing off elves for awhile, anyway.  They're too angst-ridden.  As soon as the baby's out, I'm going to start looking for a big, sweaty, hairy human who wants nothing more than to have a good time."

            Kalnaka raised her glass in agreement, then drained the contents.  After a moment, she spoke again.

            "Just what were you doing returning home so late anyway, Mina?"

            The elf gave a grin and flashed her eyebrows.  "I was trying to catch my husband in action, of course.  You have no idea how much blackmail material I have now."

 

 

____________________

(EXTRA EXTRANEOUS SCENE THAT MAY NEVER HAVE BEEN INCLUDED - The idea was that Kael was going to take it upon himself to kill Arthas and make up for failing to protect his people. This was going to leave it open for his WoW appearance, as I was expecting him to show up as a bad guy (since it's the Standard Blizzard Character Plot Arc™), with the idea that he might end up attacked by demon magic & then old addictions would take over. But again, this was all up in the air. This scene was probably never going to be included)

            "I have to go, Jaina," he whispered.

            "I know."  She pulled him into a long hug.

            "I'm going to kill him," he said solemnly.  Jaina pulled away; there were tears on her cheeks.

            "Please do," she whispered, even though the thought of Arthas' death still terrified her -- even if she knew he was no longer Arthas.  "We will be here waiting for you when you return."  After a moment, she ran her hand along his jaw.  "Don't give in, Kael."

            He knew she meant the demon magic.  What could he do?  The Scourge couldn't be stopped by the magic of the Kirin Tor.

            She pressed an amulet into his hand.  He stared at it.

            "Fire spells," she whispered.  "Just as you used to use.  They are charged in this amulet, so you won't be channelling the magic of the demons through your body."  She rubbed the tip of one ear between her thumb and forefinger; it was a gesture she always did during idle moments in bed after lovemaking.  He had grown rather fond of it.  "Come back to me, Kael, the same way you are now."

            "I will," he promised.  He turned to face Mina and Dath'Remar and smiled; he had to come back for them and for Jaina.  For his family.

 

 


End file.
